by Kylie Dodson
The memory of it was burned into her mind as if it happened just yesterday. It was a memory that replayed in her head every day. Some days, more than others. "It was a long time ago."
"Case?" Blake asked.
"Some people are twisted enough to leave this sort of thing behind. It's like a dare to try and find them," she said, ignoring Blake's question. "But this," she pointed at the graffiti. "This poem has nothing to do with the girl in the dumpster. At least not on the front end."
"The front end?"
Jennifer pointed toward the dumpster. "Maybe there was another poem that lead to the girl in the dumpster...Or at least the drive-in. But this one is about someone else."
"Someone who was already killed?"
"I hope not. But whether or not that's the issue, if we can find who this relates to, there will probably be another poem nearby. And if that's true, it narrows one type the killer has."
"OK. I stand corrected. Now, I wish I had taken that drink."
"I told you."
"Then, like I asked," Blake said. "What do we do next?"
"We?" Jennifer said in disbelief. "There is no 'we'. This is my case. And I'll be better off dealing with it if I don't have a ride-along. And you'll be better off if you don't see what may come next."
"Tell me, again, what Captain McGhee actually assigned you to?"
"What, are you going to tattle? How about you tell me, again, who it was that wanted me to rush out here to save Taggart in the first place?"
"That was a prank. And this is serious. Besides, I'm no tattler. But since you don't want me involved, I figure I've got to leverage sticking around somehow."
Jennifer's lips pulled in. She was frustrated by Blake's logic. It was the exact answer she didn't want to hear.
CHAPTER 6
The morning sun slipped between the curtains of the bedroom, lighting up little flecks of dust.
Jennifer slipped her feet back into her black athletic shoes, and laced them up before returning to her shirt. There were only two more buttons to go and then she'd be ready to head out.
The toilet flushed in the en-suite bathroom.
"Well, that was different," Taggart said, standing, wearing nothing but black boxers, in the doorway to the bathroom.
"I'm sorry," Jennifer said, flatly.
Taggart crawled across the bed, making his way for the back of her neck. "I'm not. Different is good. But maybe next time, I can be the bad cop."
She brushed his hand away and stood, straightening her shirt. "It was a stupid prank."
"Are you still burned up about that?" Taggart sat back on his knees."OK, fine. Yeah, it was childish. But when have you known me to be any different?"
She cleared her throat and motioned toward the bed.
"Well, sure. I mean, I'm still a man at the end of the day."
"Child. You're a man-child." She walked to the bathroom and looked at her own reflection. She may have played by her own rules, but Jennifer Case did so in a well put together fashion.
"Fine," Taggart said from the bedroom. "I'll take that. But even you have to admit, if it wasn't for my--as you said--childish prank, we wouldn't have found the girl."
Jennifer moved back toward the room. Now it was her turn to stand in the doorway. "Are you serious? Someone would have stumbled on the body, eventually."
"At a deserted drive-in?"
"You and I both know vagrants cruise around there on occasion."
"Sure, a vagrant was going to call the police."
"And what's this 'we' business?"
"I was there."
"But my guy saw the body."
Taggart's laugh practically shook the room. "So, now Rivers is your guy?"
Jennifer quickly realized the mistake she'd made. "He's my ride-along. The point is, he found the body, and since he's my responsibility, that makes it my case."
Taggart fell to his back in the bed, hands under his head. Even Jennifer had to admit, the man looked good. Tan, toned. The hair on his chest leading down toward a place she was quite familiar with. Sure they razzed each other at work and weren't often on each other's good sides. But when it came to the bedroom, they made a great team.
"Well, I guess that makes Mr. Investigation good for something besides writing," Taggart said.
"And what are you good for?"
"You weren't complaining fifteen minutes ago."
"Yeah, I wasn't complaining fifteen minutes ago for all of ten minutes."
"Hey, now," Taggart protested.
"That makes Blake Rivers good for two things, writing and finding dead bodies. Remind me, again, what's the second thing you're good for?"
Taggart's hands clapped together in a tiny applause. "Well done, Case. Bravo. Speaking of dead bodies, what's the situation on this one?"
"That's my business."
"Alright, fair enough. But weren't you assigned to beat cop duty with your ride-along? You think the captain will let you keep a homicide?"
"What Captain McGhee doesn't know won't hurt him. As long as no one says anything." She shot him a hard stare.
Taggart motioned his fingers like a zipper over his mouth and threw away the key. "What about Rain?"
"What about her?"
"You planning to tell her about your sneaky investigation?"
***
Jennifer stared up at the office ceiling, trying to count the seemingly infinite number of dots of spackle. She didn't know why it was called a popcorn ceiling. It looked more like white sandpaper. She let her eyes scroll to the wall with its numerous awards and academic documents till she finally landed on a framed degree in clinical psychology.
A sudden mumbling grabbed her attention and Jennifer turned her head to the woman with the notepad.
Cassidy Rain, precinct shrink. And one undeniably gorgeous woman. If Jennifer wasn't confident in herself, she would definitely feel inadequate around her.
Her olive skin tone and smooth legs rose to a black pencil skirt that was hidden by the charcoal gray chair she sat in. The sleeves of Cassidy's lavender shirt were rolled up as she went over her notes. The notepad was obscuring the view, but then Cassidy didn't need to show off any hints of cleavage to Jennifer Case. And Jennifer didn't need to see them. They were there. She'd seen enough whenever Cassidy tried to convince any one of the male officers to join her for a counseling session.
Cassidy twirled at her lightly curled auburn hair as she went over her notes. It was a flirtatious mannerism she'd formed into a habit not unlike nail-biting.
"Well, I can't see anything here that would be cause for alarm," Cassidy said.
"I guess that means no prescriptions this time, huh?"
"Jennifer, when have you ever needed drugs?"
"Fair enough."
"Though I do wonder how you'll deal with any suspects--should they appear--for this investigation. I would advise against lighting any more cars on fire."
"I guess you heard about that. I shouldn't be surprised."
Cassidy set her notepad down. "No, you shouldn't."
"Are we done?" Jennifer asked, sitting up from the couch. It was the same charcoal color as the chair except for the black throw pillows.
"With your session, yes." Cassidy said. "But as...I'm confident in calling us friends." She didn't give Jennifer a chance to respond. "I have to admit, I am quite jealous of you and Joaquin’s little trysts. What’s that like? Girl to girl."
Jennifer's eyes went wide. The office psychiatrist was actually asking about her and Joaquin Taggart's sexcapades.
Cassidy stood up and moved to her desk. It was less formal for her to lean on it than remain in the so-called shrink's chair. "I mean, I know the two of you don't have any real love between you."
"Oh, that's a massive understatement."
"From what you've told me it's more like disdain. I'm not so curious about why you do it. I'm sure it's just a stress reliever." Her hand went up to lightly stroke her own neck. "But what that man must feel like..."
Jennifer started toward the door. It wasn't Cassidy revealing too much information that made her uncomfortable. It was the sudden thought that
Cassidy Rain was going to need a private moment in a very short while.
"Like you said, stress relief. See you next month, Rain," Jennifer said just as she got to the door.
"Well, I suppose it would be easy to blow off Taggart for a man like Blake Rivers."
Jennifer stopped with her hand just on the door knob.
"Now, him, I would love to get in this room--clinically speaking of course. He's helping you with a case, isn't he? Don't worry, I won't tell
Captain McGhee. What is said in here is strictly confidential."
Jennifer turned back to her. "I wouldn't say he was helping. But, he's part of it...indirectly."
Cassidy reached for a folder on her desk and opened it, pulling out an eight-by-ten glossy photo of the poem on the wall. "'I find my love High above The open air Her strands of hair Whipped, quite tragic All dreams dash'd And all for nothing there.' It's actually quite beautiful, except for its gruesome connection. What do you think it means?"
"The last time I saw a poem like that was when--" Jennifer caught herself last minute. There was very little Jennifer Case has not told Cassidy Rain. As much as she didn't think talking to a mental doctor as worth her time, she had grown to see the value in it. Cassidy didn’t judge anyone for their feelings about the job. She knew it could be stressful, and it helped to talk to someone who wasn't a cop. But the place Jennifer's mind had wandered to? It was not something that even Cassidy knew about. It wasn't something Jennifer told anyone. Losing her little sister wasn't the kind of memory she liked talking about.
"When what, Jennifer?"
Jennifer lightly shook off Cassidy's question. "I was in high school. It was for an assignment. I got a B. See you later, Cass."
***
Jennifer sat at her desk, scrolling through an online article. She moved the cursor under a name, Samantha Lynn Casell. Her eyes read over the headline of the article. [The Tender Age of Death]. It was a crass headline and it only angered Jennifer.
"I remember that story," Blake said from behind her.
Jennifer clicked the X button, closing the article.
"Wow, that was a while ago." Blake said "I was a teenager when that happened. I remember my whole school was worried for week. No one knew what happened to Samantha. But everyone was scared the same thing would happen to them. I can't believe they never caught the guy who did it."
"It's eight pm, Rivers, why are you still here?" Jennifer asked.
"If you're working late, I'm working late. Privileges of being a ride-along. And it's a good thing we're both here, because I've come up with a theory."
"A theory, huh? This ought to be good."
"Hold all judgements until you've heard this. The graffiti is a map."
"A map?"
"That's right. Just like driving directions. It reveals the location of the next victim."
"I'm pretty sure that was my theory--"
"Think about it," Blake continued, ignoring Jennifer's reply. "'I find my love high above.' It refers to--obviously a woman--who is in a high place."
"It's a big city, full of high places," Jennifer said.
"I'm not finished. 'The open air Her strands of hair Whipped.' That means that she's up somewhere high but not inside. Open air, empty space. A place where wind must be free to blow. Hair whipped. Whipped hair."
"That's a far stretch. What about the end?"
"I'm not sure about the 'quite tragic All dreams dash'd' part. But 'all for nothing there' must continue with the empty space aspect of the riddle."
"It's a poem, Blake, not a riddle."
"I beg to differ."
"OK, fine. I'll humor you. Say your theory is right. Where does it lead?"
"That part is easy, now that I've deciphered the riddle. It leads to the ball park."
Jennifer stared at him long enough to make Blake start doubting himself. "That's ridiculous," she said. "Someone would have seen that."
"Not in the off season."
”A security guard would--"
"Have no real reason to go inside. Those guys stay on the outer-perimeter. Plus, the place is closed for renovations. Case, I'm telling you. We go to the ball park, we find our next victim."
"You mean I go to the ball park."
"Oh, no. I deciphered this. I'm going. And I'd rather not let Captain McGhee know about it."
Jennifer reflexively looked toward McGhee's office. The door was closed and the lights off. Even if Blake really was willing to tell the captain, he'd have to wait until tomorrow to do it. And on the off-chance that Blake was right about the ball park connection, there was no way that she wasn't going to look into it that night. And even if she didn't, there was every possibility that Blake would make the trip on his own.
"You little snitch," she told him.
"Not if we go to the ball park. Look if I'm wrong..." He hesitated. "If I'm wrong, I drop the whole thing and tell McGhee that I'm out of here. I'll even write an article that makes you and the department look better than ever."
Jennifer's eyes narrowed. She didn't want him tagging along at all, but this deal was too good to pass up.
She extended her hand. "Deal," she said with a wry smile.
CHAPTER 7
Jennifer’s Impala pulled right up to the stadium entrance. The headlights shone on the connected gift shop, revealing the empty store. The place had been under renovation construction for the last two months. Fortunately for her, construction crews had gone home for the night. The city wanted the place fixed up but it wasn’t in that great a hurry for it. The season was over anyway.
Blake pulled out his phone and activated the flashlight. It was considerably bright. At least until Jennifer pulled out her pocket Mag-Light, effectively cancelling Blake’s phone light. The phone was decent at dimly illuminating a small surrounding area. But Jennifer’s narrower beam lit up wherever it shone like daylight.
She rested her light on the poster full of legalese that gave the construction team permission to be there.
“Another Driscoll Construction project,” Blake said. “What do you want to bet he charged for this?”
“I’m not taking that bet.”
Blake moved closer to the iron gate that blocked the entry to the ticket booths. He picked up the padlock and dropped it, letting it dramatically clang against the chain and gate.
Jennifer glared at him. “What is wrong with you?”
“What? You’re the police. Who’s going to say anything?”
“Do you think all cops just carry warrants around with them?”
“No one is around.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“But you’re Jennifer Case. Since when do you bother with warrants?”
“And you're Blake Rivers, famous investigative journalist. Do you always draw attention to yourself when researching an article? Besides, we’re here to follow your little hunch. Forgive me if I don’t have a great deal of faith in it. But it’s not important enough to go above and beyond. Nor is it important enough to bother a judge with for a warrant. We get in, we look around, I win the deal, and we get out.”
Blake smirked at her. “Well, aren’t we overconfident?”
“It’s called experience, Rivers. Which of us has the most?”
“Alright. Alright. We’ll see.” He turned back to the locked gate. “But we’re never going to find out if we can’t get in.”
Jennifer waved her light along the wall, searching for an entrance.
“Well, if your hunch—and that’s a big if—is right, someone got in here with a body.”
The light finally came to rest on a makeshift plywood door. Jennifer narrowed her eyes at the shadow her light created from the plywood.
“Now if that was completely fastened to the wall…Blake.”
With one head motion, she directed Blake on what to do. She was glad
she didn’t need to explain too much. Blake figured on going to the plywood and he figured out it was loose on his own.
"Looks like it's missing the top hinge." He pulled at the loose side of the board, widening the space between the plywood and the door frame.
“I think I found a way in.”
Jennifer rolled her eyes at his taking the credit for her find. “Just make sure to not pull the board out.”
“I think I can squeeze through. Come on, Case.”
Jennifer watched as Blake disappeared on the other side of the plywood. “If he’s right about this, I’ll turn in my badge.”
***
Jennifer’s steps were slow and deliberate. Another part of her police training. Blake had tried, numerous times, to hurry her along, but since her flashlight and his phone light were the only sources of light, she couldn’t shake her natural instincts. Too many potential dangers, animals, artificial hazards, or even other people could have lurked in the dark.
Jennifer heard what sounded to her like a muffled animal growl.
“Did you hear that?”
“Sorry,” Blake said sheepishly. He shone his phone light on a stadium restaurant that sold nachos, hotdogs, and warm pretzels. “I haven’t eaten in a while. That plus alcohol—“
“You didn’t drink anything.”
“Even so, we should probably grab a bite after this. I know a fantastic late night deli. What do you say? Dinner?"
The question hit Jennifer sideways. Maybe it was just having spent an entire day with Blake Rivers. Or maybe it was the fawning that Dubs and Cassidy had done earlier. But something about having dinner with him—despite having just sat in a bar together—didn’t seem like such a bad idea.
She chalked it up to it being late at night and her not thinking straight.
“Can we focus?”
“Right. Sorry,” Blake said. “We’ll stick a pin in it.”
They continued making their way through the dark corridor that wrapped all around the stadium.
