by Sharon Dunn
Can the K-9 unit shield her from harm?
Evidence from forensic specialist Darcy Fields could convict a killer—if she survives to testify. A killer seems determined to discredit her, frighten her...and silence her, permanently. Hounded by the press and stalked by a murderer, Darcy must depend on Officer Jackson Davison and his K-9 partner, Smokey, as danger inches nearer and the trial date closes in.
USA TODAY Bestselling Author Sharon Dunn
Glass rained down on Darcy.
Smokey’s barking surrounded her. The dog was frantic bouncing around Jackson, who lay on top of her behind the coffee table. He rolled off her but remained close to the floor.
“Stay down. That was most likely a rifle shot from a distance. The shooter might still be in place ready to fire again.”
She lay on her stomach and peered into his face. Tense seconds ticked by.
Jackson sat up and reached out, touching his hand to her cheek. “You all right?”
TRUE BLUE K-9 UNIT: BROOKLYN
These police officers fight for justice with the help of their brave canine partners.
Copycat Killer by Laura Scott, April 2020
Chasing Secrets by Heather Woodhaven, May 2020
Deadly Connection by Lenora Worth, June 2020
Explosive Situation by Terri Reed, July 2020
Tracking a Kidnapper by Valerie Hansen, August 2020
Scene of the Crime by Sharon Dunn, September 2020
Cold Case Pursuit by Dana Mentink, October 2020
Delayed Justice by Shirlee McCoy, November 2020
True Blue K-9 Unit: Brooklyn Christmas by Laura Scott and Maggie K. Black, December 2020
Ever since she found the Nancy Drew books with the pink covers in her country school library, Sharon Dunn has loved mystery and suspense. Most of her books take place in Montana, where she lives with three nearly grown children and a hyper border collie. She lost her beloved husband of twenty-seven years to cancer in 2014. When she isn’t writing, she loves to hike surrounded by God’s beauty.
Books by Sharon Dunn
Love Inspired Suspense
Broken Trust
Zero Visibility
Montana Standoff
Top Secret Identity
Wilderness Target
Cold Case Justice
Mistaken Target
Fatal Vendetta
Big Sky Showdown
Hidden Away
In Too Deep
Wilderness Secrets
Mountain Captive
Undercover Threat
True Blue K-9 Unit: Brooklyn
Scene of the Crime
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.
Scene of the Crime
Sharon Dunn
Thou art my hiding place; thou shalt preserve me from trouble; thou shalt compass me about with songs of deliverance.
—Psalms 32:7
For my counselor and king, comforter and friend, Jesus.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
Dear Reader
Excerpt from Covert Cover-Up by Elizabeth Goddard
ONE
Brooklyn K-9 Unit officer Jackson Davison opened the back of his SUV where his partner, Smokey, was crated. Eager to work, the chocolate Lab wagged his tail and jumped down at Jackson’s command.
Jackson studied the arch of Grand Army Plaza and, beyond that, Prospect Park.
“Let’s go find a body,” he said. Trained as a cadaver dog, Smokey was part of the Emergency Services Division for the recently formed Brooklyn K-9 Unit.
Jackson clicked Smokey into his leash and took off at a jog toward the memorial. The vendors around the arch were still selling food, though the crowds were smaller than earlier in the day.
A call had come into Dispatch that someone had seen a body in a cluster of trees not too far from the arch. The caller had not identified him or herself and had hung up before giving any details.
Jackson and Smokey ran toward the trees that bordered the entrance to the park. The botanic garden was closed for the day but plenty of people rested on the lawn and utilized the paths as the sky turned gray on this cool September evening.
The leash remained slack. Smokey hadn’t alerted to anything, though he kept his nose to the ground. The call could be a total hoax, Jackson knew, but the K-9 Unit would of course respond. The nature of the call bothered him. From the information the dispatcher had given him, the caller had not stayed on the line or provided any information other than a vague location. If the call was genuine, why not identify yourself and why hang up?
Smokey kept his nose on the path as they passed joggers, bicyclists, couples pushing baby strollers. With a jerk on the leash, Smokey veered off deeper into the trees. Jackson’s heartbeat revved up a notch. Smokey had picked up on something.
Jackson commanded Smokey to sit so he could unclick his leash. He patted the Lab on the chest, the signal that he could let his nose do its thing. “Find.”
Smokey took off into the deep brush and through more trees. The Lab could find remains that were years old and buried. Most civilians didn’t want to think about the five stages of smells of a body after death or the different types of odors Smokey was trained to detect. Tonight would be easy for the Lab, given it was a body above ground. Jackson had no idea how long it had been in the park or the state of decomposition. Or even if there was a body.
Jackson focused on how finding bodies often gave loved ones closure in tragic situations. It wasn’t a job for the fainthearted, but it was meaningful. And working with Smokey had brought a renewed sense of purpose into Jackson’s life after his breakup with his fiancée.
Smokey disappeared into some bushes where an abundance of gold and red leaves hung on the foliage. Jackson pushed branches out of the way, searching for his partner in the waning light. He could hear the dog moving through the undergrowth, yipping excitedly. They were close.
Jackson caught movement out of the corner of his eye: a face in the trees fading out of view. His heart beat a little faster. Was someone watching him? He could hear people on the paths some distance away, but this part of the park in the deep brush was not where most people wanted to be unless they were up to something. The hairs on the back of Jackson’s neck stood at attention as a light breeze brushed his face. Even as he studied the foliage, he felt the weight of a gaze on him. The sound of Smokey’s barking brought his mission back into focus.
When he caught up with his partner, the dog was sitting. The signal that he’d found something. “Good boy.” Jackson tossed out the toy he carried on his belt for Smokey to play with, his reward for doing his job. The dog whipped the toy back and forth in his mouth.
“Drop,” Jackson said. He picked up the toy and patted Smokey on the head. “Sit. Stay.”
The body, partially covered by branches, was clothed in neutral colors and would not be easy to spot unless you were looking for it. Plus, it was getting dark. Another hour or s
o and someone wouldn’t see it unless they stumbled over it, which made Jackson wonder how the caller had known it was there.
He keyed his radio. “Officer Davison here. I’ve got a body in Prospect Park. Male Caucasian under the age of forty, about two hundred yards in, just southwest of the Brooklyn Botanic Garden.” He stepped closer to the body and shone his flashlight on it. “Looks like a bullet wound to the chest. We’re going to need a forensics team here.” It was too much to hope that someone had died of natural causes. Every death was hard for him.
Dispatch responded, “Ten-Four. Help is on the way.”
Jackson clicked off his radio. He studied the trees just in time to catch the face again, barely visible, like a fading mist. He was being watched. The person wore a hood that covered part of his or her face. “Did you see something?” Jackson shouted. “Did you call this in?”
The person turned and ran, disappearing into the thick brush.
Jackson took off in the direction the runner had gone. Radioing for backup would slow him down. As his feet pounded the hard earth, another thought occurred to him. Was this the person who had shot the man in the chest? Sometimes criminals hung around to witness the police response to their handiwork. The caller and the killer could be one in the same.
Pulling his weapon, he hurried in the direction the hooded figure had gone, knowing that Smokey would stay with the body.
He came out into an open area where a dozen or so people were having a barbecue and playing guitar and bongos. The revelers stopped their activity and stared at him: a normal reaction to seeing a cop with a gun. Jackson caught a flash of motion in his peripheral vision and resumed his pursuit. He could hear the watcher in the bushes up ahead though he did not catch a glimpse of him. He came out on a path that was mostly deserted. Several runners disappeared over a hill and then he was by himself.
Jackson tuned his ears to the sounds around him. The wind rustling the dried leaves on the trees, music and voices in the distance. He studied the trees in sectors, not seeing any movement. His attention was drawn to a garbage can just as an object hit the back of his head with intense force. He swayed and blinked. Pain radiated from the base of his skull. He heard metal tinging as something was thrown into the garbage can and then the pounding of retreating footsteps. He crumpled to the ground and his world went black.
Minutes or hours later, he didn’t know which, his eyes fluttered open and he winced at the bright light shining in his face.
“Hey, there,” said a singsongy female voice.
Jackson shaded his eyes. “Get that thing out of my face.”
The flashlight was clicked off. “Sorry, I was checking your pupils to see if they were dilated.”
He kind of liked the voice. It reminded him of the nonjudgmental woman who gave directions in his truck GPS. When he’d first moved to New York two years ago, from Texas, that voice had been a comfort as he’d tried to navigate a new city.
He looked up into her face with his eyes still half closed, fearing another dose of blinding light. Soft eyes, blond curls and dimples. Only the forensic suit and booties gave her away. She looked more like a kindergarten teacher than a tech. He’d seen Darcy Fields, the forensics specialist, at a distance when she came into K-9 headquarters or to work a crime scene, but he’d never talked to her.
She leaned back, resting on her knees. “You’re the officer who called in the body, right?”
“How did you find me?”
“It took some coaxing—he didn’t want to leave the body—but your dog led me to you, and the gathering crowd was a good hint.” She turned slightly so he had view of Smokey. Sitting obediently, his tail did a little thump on the ground when Jackson looked at him. And then Jackson saw the gathering crowd around him.
His cheeks grew warm and he stood. Now he felt stupid. How had he managed to let himself get knocked unconscious? He’d never hear the end it from the rest of the K-9 team.
She held out hand for him to help him up. “I’m Darcy Fields, Forensics.”
“I know who you are.” He pointed to her paper bodysuit. “The outfit gives it away.”
She laughed. “Believe it or not, I was at a very fancy shindig when I got the call.” She unzipped her suit slightly to reveal a sequined dress. “Normally my hair is pulled back when I work, not curly.” She had a sort of bouncy bright quality that didn’t fit with being a crime tech. “So why were you all the way over here playing Rip Van Winkle?”
“There was a someone hiding in the foliage where I found the body. The person took off running and I chased. I think he or she wanted to make sure I found the dead man, but didn’t want to get caught. I think that’s why I was hit in the head.”
Darcy narrowed her eyes. “But you don’t know for sure if the same person you saw in the trees hit you in the head?”
“No, I didn’t see who hit me and I never got a good look at the person who was watching me.” He knew Darcy must see everything in terms of how it would play in court. She wasn’t wrong. His theory was only speculation at this point. “I know we can’t draw conclusions until the evidence is examined.”
“Right. I don’t know anything until the evidence speaks to me,” she said. “Could be the person you saw in the trees was the concerned citizen who called it in, could be connected to the crime, could be something else entirely.”
Concerned citizen, he doubted it. “I didn’t get a good look, couldn’t tell you if it was a man or a woman. But I think he or she dropped something in that trash can.”
Darcy pushed through the crowd of onlookers and moved toward the garbage can, pulling gloves out of a back pocket. She sorted through a pile of plastic cups and fast-food wrappers before pulling out a small gun. “Okay, now things are getting weird.”
Some of the crowd dispersed, having lost interest, while others watched Darcy bag the gun.
“I don’t think the person I chased was a concerned citizen. I think he or she was a witness to, or a part of, the crime that led to that man being shot,” said Jackson.
“That doesn’t make sense. Why leave evidence behind? Are we dealing with the world’s dumbest criminal?” Darcy held up the bagged gun.
“Believe me, I’ve encountered some pretty dumb criminals.”
Darcy pursed and released her lips as though she were thinking. “Did you actually see him or her drop the gun in the trash can?”
“No. I thought I heard it as I was losing consciousness.” Now he realized how flimsy his story sounded from a legal standpoint. “I know it won’t stand up in court. Just because events happened close together doesn’t mean they’re related.”
“This could be from a different crime. We won’t know until we get it to the lab.” Darcy turned to face him.
Even though his gut told him this was all connected, he saw now how he didn’t have any solid evidence to link anything together. All he had was what lawyers would call “circumstantial.”
“I have to get back to work.” She took several steps and then looked over her shoulder. He liked her smile. “I’m glad we found you. I didn’t need another mystery on my hands.”
He followed her back to the body, where other techs had already cordoned off an area with crime scene tape. A van belonging to the coroner had driven onto the grass. The coroner and his assistant stood by the vehicle, waiting to approach the body.
Several uniformed officers stood around, as well. Jackson approached one of them and gave his statement about the watcher in the woods and being hit in the back of the head. “I’m not the detective on this case, but I think my being hit is somehow connected to that man’s death.”
The uniformed officer nodded. “I’ll make sure the detective assigned to the case gets your statement.”
“I’ll file a report about being assaulted.” Jackson turned his attention back to the crime scene.
Once the coroner examined th
e body, the forensic team went to work. After pulling her hair up in one of those hair ties women wore like bracelets, Darcy examined the body while the other two techs combed the area around the deceased man.
Jackson clicked Smokey back into his leash. Still stirred up by the face in the woods and what it meant, Jackson hung back to watch Darcy and the others work, curious as to what they might find.
* * *
Darcy took notes and performed a cursory study of the body. The autopsy would reveal more. The victim was dressed in casual clothes appropriate for the time of year. Flannel shirt in grays and browns, tan denim jacket, boots and jeans.
As she stared into the victim’s lifeless face, Darcy said a prayer for him and for the family members who would soon be getting the news of the man’s death. “Shot at close range. I’d say maybe a .38,” she said aloud.
About a month ago, she’d been in the same park dealing with another person shot at point-blank range. The perpetrator of that crime, Reuben Bray, was now in jail awaiting trial.
Jackson Davison and his cute dog were still hanging around. She felt a little distracted by the K-9 officer’s presence. He had a faint accent that suggested he wasn’t from New York. Somewhere from the South maybe. Every time their eyes locked, her heart fluttered a little. He was probably just hanging around in a professional capacity anyway. What did it matter if she found him attractive? She had a rule about not dating cops. The last time she’d opened her heart to an officer, he’d only been using her to expedite evidence. As nice as Jackson seemed, she’d vowed to never again fall for a police officer.
She looked at the other tech. Harlan Germaine was an older man with gray hair and a beard, and glasses much too big for his thin face. “Did the coroner pull ID on him?” she asked.
“Man’s name is Griffin Martel,” Harlan said. “Sorry about you having to leave your night out for this.”
“Actually, I was grateful. It was kind of not going anywhere.” Her church had decided to have a fancy dress-up night followed by a catered meal for all the young singles in the congregation. “Most men’s eyes glaze over when I talk about my work. Guess I should get an interesting hobby, so I have something else to talk about. Don’t know why I get my hopes up.” She spoke under her breath more to herself than to Harlan. “No one wants to the date the nerdy science girl.”
