Hard Case

by Kylie Dodson

  "Save your breath, Rivers. I'm not that easily offended. And even if you were interested, you are so far and away from my type."

  "What is your type?"

  "Not you."

  "Fair enough. So, what are we doing?"

  "That depends on what we see or what comes over the scanner."

  "Got it. Cop work."

  Jennifer shook her head ever so slightly before refocusing her attention on the world outside of the car. It didn't take long for her attention to be sidetracked again by Blake. The sound of him sucking in his bottom lip and drumming on his legs tricked off her misophonia, sending her into instant irritation.

  She whipped her head to face him. "Could you not do that?"

  "Sorry."

  She sighed. "Look, I get it. You were probably expecting shoot-outs and explosions. Not just sitting in a car. But eighty-percent of this job is just that. Sitting around, waiting for something to happen. It's not very exciting and it can be mind-numbingly boring."

  "So that means twenty percent of it is gunfights and explosions," Blake said.

  His amusement at the notion was slightly cute.

  She shook off the thought. "I'm so glad you can do math. And you're right. But the odds of you being around when that happens are very, very low."

  "Still a chance."

  "Like zero."

  "Maybe more like zero point one?"

  "Try point zero zero one."

  He grinned. "I'll take those odds."

  "Alright, but don't blame me when all this boring inactivity causes you to lose brain cells and you can't write anymore."

  Blake grinned at the ribbing. The way his smile made his eyes sparkle...He really was a good-looking guy.

  Fortunately, the sound of Jennifer's phone interrupted the direction of her thoughts.

  She picked it up. "This is Case."

  "Shots fired!" a voice said on the other end of the line.

  "Taggart?"

  "Officers pinned down! Requesting assistance!l Old Moonlight Drive-in! We--"

  The line went dead.

  "Taggart? Taggart?" Jennifer dropped her phone.

  "What is it?" Blake asked.

  "Something you don't need to be around for."

  "I thought I heard someone yell shots fired."

  "Dispatch will handle it." Her fingers clenched the steering wheel.

  "I realize that today is the first time we've met, but I feel like I know you well enough to know that the real Detective Jennifer Case wouldn't let dispatch handle something she can handle on her own." His grin returned. "And judging by what looks to me to be a glint in your eye, I have a suspicion that I'm about to see that twenty percent."

  CHAPTER 3

  The tires of Detective Jennifer Case’s unmarked Impala skidded to a halt on the gravel of the old drive-In theater grounds. She took a quick survey of the area from inside the relative safety of her vehicle.

  The afternoon sun hung high in the sky, leaving very little shadow on the expansive ground.

  Her eyes darted back and forth, searching for any sign of Detective Taggart or any other officers. There were no bodies on the ground and no evidence of any gunshots. No shells on the ground, no bullet holes, and no echo of nine-millimeter blasts. The whole place looked as abandoned as ever. Rusted metal siding wrapped around the perimeter of the viewing area. Two screens that used to show classic and modern movies clung to life with a few white panels hanging from the support beams. It was all that remained of the once popular night spot.

  “Stay here,” she ordered Blake.

  “But what if you need back-up?”

  She looked him up and down.

  “This is the exact sort of thing I need for my article. On the ground. With Jennifer Case. And besides, I know my way around a fight.” He squared up his shoulders, pulling his shirt tighter across his chest.

  “A gunfight?”

  Blake stuttered, searching for the right words. “Well, not—I mean, not a gunfight, but a—“

  “Look, Rivers, I appreciate that you think you have my back. But regardless of what you write or say about me—good or bad—I have a duty. And whether I like it or not, that means making sure that civilians stay safe. That means you.”

  “You just used my last name. I feel like I’m part of the force now.”

  Jennifer rolled her eyes. “Stay in the car.”

  Her hand had barely touched the door handle when a dark mass slammed against her door. The loud bang and the sudden appearance startled both Jennifer and Blake.

  As the mass slid down the window, Jennifer recognized the contorted face of fellow detective Joaquin Taggart, who's usual rugged good looks were twisted into an expression of pain.

  Jennifer opened her door to find Taggart lying face up on the ground and in a very different emotional state than what she expected.

  “Taggart?” she asked.

  The detective had one hand on his stomach and one on his head. The pain from his laughter must have hurt both.

  Blake quickly stepped out of the car and ran to Jennifer's side. “Is he laughing?”

  It took Taggart great efforts to stand because he was laughing so hard. But as he regained his composure, he dusted off his light gray suit and brushed the dust out of his thick, well-groomed black hair. Two more officers--in uniform--stepped out from their hiding spots behind the old ticket booth, sharing in the revelry.

  “What is going on?” Blake asked, stretching out the question.

  Jennifer spun around to face him. Her expression didn’t just hint at her annoyance. It fully admitted to it. But that annoyance was not aimed at Blake. Her current disdain was totally focused on Taggart who was still trying to catch his breath.

  She refaced the laughing detective. “What is this?”

  “You should have seen your face,” Taggart said laboriously. “That one is going down in the record books. Hey, Mr. Investigation, use this for your next headline, ‘Detective Case, Foiled Again’.”

  The two cops, both in on the morbid joke, chuckled lightly at Taggart’s raz, the weight of their little hazing having finally died down.

  “This was a prank?” Case asked.

  Taggart’s hands went to his hips as he nodded.

  “You took two officers off the job for a joke?” she asked.

  “Relax, Case. I heard about your little ride-along and wanted to see what you would do. Officially, you probably shouldn’t have answered that call.”

  “You called her personal number,” Blake said.

  “Well, I couldn’t have called dispatch,” Taggart replied. “Now that would have been a waste of resources.”

  “And you two agreed to this?” Jennifer asked the other officers. “You know we do paper-work, right? Detailed reports of calls? How do either of you think this is going to reflect on you?”

  Both uniformed cops looked at the ground. They apparently thought the whole thing would have been in good fun. But with Jennifer Case reprimanding them, the gravity of the situation had finally hit.

  “I thought by-the-book wasn’t your thing,” Blake whispered.

  “You think now is the best time for that?” Jennifer was about to start reprimanding him.

  Blake Rivers shrank back, silent.

  Taggart held his hands up in a defensive position. “Alright, Case. I get it. But you don’t get to scold my guys.”

  “Um, Mr. Rivers?”

  Everyone turned to face the sheepish blonde officer.

  Blake turned to Jennifer as if asking for her permission. Her scowl did little to deter him from moving forward. Besides, he was sure her scowl wasn't meant for him.

  Mostly, anyway.

  “Yes?” Blake asked.

  “Sorry, I’m just a—I mean sorry about the prank. Anyway, I’m a big fan.”

  “Oh. Thanks.” Blake’s eyes darted to Jennifer. This time, apparently, he wasn’t sure if it was OK to talk to the officer. “That means a lot.”

  “I read your article on that
lawyer involved with the Ponzi scheme. That’s actually why I became a cop. I wanted to bust high-profile guys like that.”

  “Well, the city certainly needs that sort of gumption.”

  “Yeah, but keep pulling stupid pranks like this one and you’ll either be out of a job, or permanently stuck giving directions to tourists or getting cats out of trees,” Jennifer said.

  The officer’s eyes snapped back to the ground. "Yes, ma’am. Sorry.”

  “That was kind of harsh, don’t you think?” Blake asked Jennifer.

  She shot a glare at him that was worse than the scowl she had worn. “I wouldn’t even be here if you hadn’t convinced me to answer the call.”

  “Oh, come on,” Blake said. “You would have shown up here regardless of me.”

  “No, because Taggart probably wouldn’t have even come up with the idea for this prank if you weren’t here in the first place."

  “It’s true,” Taggart added. “I’ll give her a hard time, but I cooked all this up because of you.”

  Blake squared up his shoulders, attempting to appear commanding.

  “You know what? Let’s all get one thing straight. I’m here as a favor to Captain McGhee. Because he thinks that whatever I write or say is going to make your precinct look better than it has lately. And that’s in part because of you.” He pointed at Jennifer. “And as excited as I was to be here, I’m getting a little tired of—“

  A scream broke through the air, interrupting whatever defense Blake had formed and putting a stop to the growing argument.

  Jennifer turned to Taggart, wondering if it was another prank. Taggart shook his head.

  CHAPTER 4

  Jennifer whirled around to face Blake. “Get back in the car and do not come out until I tell you to.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Now,” she firmly commanded, ending any further dispute before it could even start.

  Taggart drew his gun. “Call it in,” he told the fanboy cop.

  All three officers, except the fan, made their way around the back side of the drive-in perimeter.

  ***

  Jennifer and Taggart slowed their steps as they neared a beat up, rusty blue dumpster. Even its plastic lids, still on the hinges, looked like they’d seen better days. Jennifer wondered for one moment why no one ever came to take that thing away. It was the property of the garbage company, after all.

  She quickly shook off the thought. It wasn’t pertinent to their search. “You heard it come from over here, too, right?”

  “Yeah,” Taggart said. "Weird how there was no other sound before or after that.”

  Jennifer stepped cautiously to the other side of the dumpster, careful not to make too much noise.

  She half expected to see someone on the ground, bleeding, but there was no sign of anyone. Just more gravel and weeds growing up through the cracks in the concrete.

  Her eyes scoured the area, but between the two-story brick building next to the drive-in and the metal wall of the drive-in itself, there was nothing.

  Nothing and no one.

  “Wait,” she said to herself as her eyes landed on a pair of empty shoes.

  Jennifer rushed to the footwear, maintaining a scan of her surroundings for anything else that seemed out of place. “Taggart,” she called out, knowing the only answer she’d get was his approach.

  She knelt by the shoes, a pair of hazel-wood colored pumps. One of them even had the heel missing.

  “Someone was in a hurry,” Taggart said flatly. It was a callous thing of him to say, but it was accurate.

  Jennifer took note of the brand. They were designer. And from what she knew of shoes, they were well made. Not likely to break from normal wear. Which made Taggart’s comment all the more accurate.

  “Whoever wore these was running in them,” she said. “But why were they out here in the first place?”

  “Could have been late night partiers just cruising to get in a little trouble. Heel could have broken well before they got here. Owner figured dumping them at an abandoned site was no big deal.”

  “Possible,” Jennifer said, but she suspected that wasn't the case.

  “Find anything?” Blake asked, rushing to meet with Jennifer and Taggart.

  “I told you to stay in the car,” Jennifer said.

  “You and I both knew that wasn’t going to happen. Besides, I’m an investigative journalist. I’m pretty much just like you.”

  Jennifer clenched her fists. “Excuse me?”

  “Hard to argue,” Taggart told her. “I mean, except for the gun. Investigate. Detective.”

  “See?” Blake asked. “And how else am I going to write your story if I have to stay in the car?”

  Jennifer knew he had a point. Even though she didn’t want him there in the first place. “Fine. But if you see anything that looks off, don’t touch it. Tell me, first.”

  “I don’t see anyone,” the fanboy officer said as he joined them. “This place is empty.”

  Blake shook his head. “No. We all heard the same thing. Someone is here. We should fan out, we’ll cover more ground that way.”

  Jennifer and Taggart looked at Blake incredulously.

  “What?” Blake asked. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

  Jennifer shook her head and went one way while Taggart went another, leaving Blake and the fanboy near the dumpster.

  Jennifer didn't get five steps before she turned around to see Blake lift the dumpster lid. Her brow furrowed and her jaw clenched. Does he actually think there’s something worth looking for in there?

  Blake dropped the lid and stumbled backwards. “Case!”

  Jennifer rushed to the dumpster and lifted the lid.

  Her shoulders slumped at the sight of the barefoot dead woman at the bottom of the dumpster.

  ***

  Jennifer shut the back door of the coroner’s van and rapped her knuckles on the back window.

  The van slowly lurched forward on the gravel before speeding off.

  “Given the time between the scream and finding her, I’d say, she just died,” Jennifer said.

  “You mean she’d just been killed,” Blake told her.

  “We try not to skip straight to that conclusion.”

  “A scream usually denotes danger.”

  “Unless she was messing around on the dumpster and screamed when she fell in.”

  “She had blood on her shirt. We all saw the blood, right?” Blake asked.

  “Could have cut herself on some rusty metal during the fall,” Taggart said. “Then snapped her neck when she hit.”

  Jennifer peered down into the bin.

  “What are you looking for?” Blake asked. “The body—the woman was the only thing—wow that sounds bad when said out loud…” He recomposed himself. “There wasn’t anything else in there.”

  Jennifer didn’t respond to him as she hoisted herself up on the lip of the dumpster.

  “You’re actually going in there?” Blake asked.

  “It’s called police work, Rivers,” she told him before dropping into the bin.

  Taggart opened the other lid, careful to not let it slam onto the back of the dumpster. With both lids open, more light shone so Jennifer could get a better look at the inside of the container.

  There was definitely blood on the dumpster floor. And from what Jennifer could tell, it was fresh.

  The dumpster had sat there, unused, for as long as the drive-in had been closed. Five years was a long time. Four winters and five summers provided enough temperature fluctuations to keep any new bacteria from forming. That coupled with the lack of food and other waste meant the trash receptacle wasn’t harboring any biological life. For all intents and purposes, it was clean.

  “Nothing?” Taggart asked.

  “Nothing,” she said, standing and rescanning the theater grounds.

  “We’ve got a pair of heels, one broken, and a dead woman in a dumpster.”

  “Plus the scream,” Taggart said.

 
“Plus the scream.” Jennifer’s eyes fell on Blake Rivers. “I hate to admit it, but I think Rivers is onto something.”

  Blake lifted his chin. “Of course I am. I’m not new to this game, Case.”

  "You know, Case,” Taggart said.

  She looked at him, already recognizing the tone in his voice.

  “You keep working with this guy...” Taggart motioned, with his head at Blake. “Your career might end right where you’re standing.”

  “You think so, Taggart? Maybe I should start working on my prank game. You think if I keep doing that, I'll be a better detective than you? Oh, wait.”

  Blake snickered at the put down.

  “Keep laughing, Rivers. It could have been you in that dumpster." Taggart paused. "That's not how I meant that to sound. You know what?" He brushed his hands together as though cleaning them of the whole matter. Then he spun on his heel and headed away from them.

  “So what’s next?” Blake asked. “Dusting for prints? Do you need to shine one of those UV flashlights around in there?”

  “The forensics team is on their way. They’ll take care of all that. Though I doubt they’ll find anything. The lip of this thing must have had hundreds of hands touch it. Not to mention all of the plastic or cloth items that were thrown away. Most of the prints that might still be there were smudged a long time ago.”

  Jennifer helped herself out of the dumpster while Blake reached out for her to take his hand. She looked at him, unsure. Jennifer Case was used to helping herself. She didn’t need anyone’s assistance for most things. And she liked to keep it that way. But in some small way, she felt like Blake Rivers might have some influence on her career. It was probably for the best if she loosened her belt a little.

  She slapped her hand into his and allowed him to help—or at least feel like he was helping her down.

  “A pair of heels and a body in the dumpster at the old abandoned drive-in,” Blake said. “Sounds like a bad horror movie.”