by Carsen Taite
“About time you got here. What took you so long?”
Riley turned toward the familiar voice and allowed herself to be pulled into a tight hug, hoping her slight wince wasn’t too visible. Jensen was a student at Richards College, and he was prone to displays of affection Riley wasn’t used to, but had grudgingly grown to accept because she enjoyed his company. She suspected his affection stemmed from the fact they were the only two out gay members of the group and they both shared a love of lifting weights. She didn’t mind an occasional hug and she tolerated him calling her “bro,” but she had limits. When she felt she’d spent an acceptable amount of time in Jensen’s embrace, she eased her way back to a slight distance. “You know me. I was chasing the sun’s last rays.”
“No worries. We saved you a seat. And a beer.” With a flourish, Jensen produced a pint of dark beer with a frothy head. “Temptress for you.”
“Thanks.” Riley accepted the glass of local stout and took a deep drink, letting the creamy beer linger in her mouth for a moment before swallowing. She looked around. “Where’s everyone else?”
“Darts.”
“Ah. And I’m assuming you meeting me at the door with a beer means you already got bounced?”
“Yep. Want to watch the rest?”
“Sure, lead the way.”
They walked into the dart room in time to see Natalie, a tall blonde, regaling Buster with a birthday toast. Natalie taught art to kids at one of the more prominent Montessori schools in Plano, just north of Dallas. Natalie always scoffed when anyone asked her what she was working on, insisting her own art was no more than a hobby, but Riley suspected she held on to hopes of attracting professional recognition of her work. Riley couldn’t imagine how draining it must be to work with little kids all day and then try to focus on your own work. She taught drawing classes at the downtown branch of Richards College, but at least her students were adults and already familiar with the basics in addition to being able to tie their own shoes.
When the toast was over, Warren, one of the newer members of the group, pointed at the dartboard. “Who’s up next?”
The crowd laughed as Buster held up his hands in surrender. “Not me. Apparently, getting a year older is affecting my eyesight.”
Warren glanced around, but as he did others held up their hands in surrender. “Seriously, have I beaten everyone?” he asked.
Jensen clapped Riley on the back and called out her name. “Not this one.”
“Oh no, I’m good.”
“Seriously, Riley,” Buster said. “You can’t do worse than the rest of us. You may as well let Warren make it unanimous.”
Riley tried one more time to shrug off the challenge, but the entire group started chanting her name, softly at first and then increasing in volume at a decibel threatening to take over the bar. “Okay, okay. I’ll play.” She walked over to where Warren was standing.
He handed her a few darts and grinned. “They tell me you’re the one to beat.”
She studied his face for a moment, surprised by what looked like admiration. “I don’t know about that, but we do come here a lot. Glad you could join us this time.”
“Thanks. I’m glad I found you all. My friends have been saying I need a hobby. Who knew I’d get two in one group? And they even rhyme. Art and darts—get it?”
He cracked up at his own joke, and Riley couldn’t help but join in with his infectious laughter. She could totally relate. These friends had been a lifesaver for her over the past six months. Without them, she was fairly certain she would’ve been holed up in her apartment, creating absolutely nothing. But knowing she had friends who counted on her to join them for sketch dates got her out of the house and out of her head long enough to pump out a pretty impressive portfolio, enough to interest one of the more prominent galleries in town, and they were in talks about representing her work. She lined up with the dartboard and took a deep breath before firing her first shot. As the dart left her hand, she closed her eyes. She didn’t need to see its path to know it would be a bull’s-eye, and in this moment, her world was right.
* * *
Claire slapped at her nightstand until the buzzing stopped. She rolled over, pushed up her eye mask, and groaned when she saw the time on her cell phone. Two a.m. Damn. Now that she knew the buzzing hadn’t been her alarm, she scrolled to her missed calls and instantly recognized the last number as DPD dispatch. She hit redial rather than waiting for the voice message to come through.
“This is Detective Hanlon. I just got a call.”
“Hi, Detective,” the dispatcher said. “It’s Walt. Got a DB in Deep Ellum for you.”
Claire bit back a remark about how as a homicide detective, it would be kind of unusual for him to call her in the middle of the night about anything other than a dead body. “Hey, Walt, thanks for the wake-up call.” She reached for the flip book she kept by her phone and scrawled a few notes. “What’s the number of the ranking officer on scene?” She swung her legs out of the bed while he rattled off the number and she dialed it before the digits fell out of her head. “Officer Cohen, this is Detective Hanlon. I’m on my way to your scene.” While she waited for him to acknowledge her, she shoved the phone against her shoulder and tugged on her pants.
“Thanks. We could use a few more patrol units out here. There’s quite a crowd gathering.”
“No doubt.” Saturday night in Deep Ellum was one of the worst times and places to work a homicide scene. “I’ll contact the watch commander. In the meantime, here’s what I need you to do.” She rattled off a list of instructions designed to keep the crime scene from being contaminated and to make sure no witnesses left the scene, pausing midway through long enough to put on a shirt. When she was satisfied Cohen wouldn’t completely fuck up her scene, she hung up, brushed her teeth, grabbed her keys, and headed to the garage attached to her apartment building. Once the phone was switched over to the car’s Bluetooth, she called her partner, Nick Redding.
When she heard his sleepy hello, she said, “Wake up, sleepyhead. There’s a body waiting for you.”
“Go away.”
“Not going to happen. I’m headed to your place. Tell Cheryl you’ll be home late. We may have a lot of witnesses to talk to.”
“Ugh. Okay. I’ll meet you outside.”
Claire laughed at his grumbly voice, glad she wasn’t the only one annoyed about being rousted from sleep. Her apartment wasn’t far from Nick’s house, and she made it in record time, purposefully driving faster than the limit through the streets of his University Park neighborhood, daring the cops in this rich inner city neighborhood to pull her over. Fortunately, the streets were fairly empty for a Saturday night, which was for the best since as fun as it would be to troll them, she needed to collect Nick and get to Deep Ellum before Officer Cohen had a meltdown.
True to his word, Nick was standing at the end of the sidewalk, shoving his arms into a rumpled suit jacket. She stopped barely long enough for him to jump in the car and then sped off. She pointed at his head. “You might want to do something about that or folks will mistake you for Einstein.”
He whipped out a comb and dutifully arranged his bedhead into a passable style. “Tonight was the first night in two weeks Cheryl wasn’t called in,” he offered as an explanation for his disarray. His wife was a highly sought after OB/GYN, and her salary was the reason they could afford to live in such an affluent part of town.
“Sorry to disturb your night of romance.”
“I can hear the sorrow in your voice,” he replied, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Let me guess—you were up listening to the scanner and snagged this one just for us. Where’re we headed?”
Claire was used to Nick ribbing her about her lack of a personal life. “Very funny. Dead body in Deep Ellum. Don’t have many details, but a couple of drunk kids stumbled onto her in a parking lot.”
“Homeless?”
She shook her head. “I talked to the officer on scene. He said the body was posed.�
� She handed over her phone. “Cohen sent me a pic. Tell me what you think.” She kept her eyes on the road while he studied the photo. He handed it back to her with a low whistle.
“That’s weird.”
“Yep.”
“They already have a crowd forming?”
“They do.”
“We’re going to need more uniforms on scene.”
“Already on it.”
He nodded his approval and yawned. “It’s going to be a late night.”
“Afraid so.”
“I’m starving.”
She laughed and pointed at her bag. “I refilled this afternoon. Help yourself.”
Nick grinned and reached in and grabbed a bag of Cheetos from the stash of snacks.
“Don’t get orange all over everything, okay?” she said.
He nodded while he chewed, and Claire smiled at his easy enjoyment of the simple snack. They’d been partners for three years, and in that time she learned that a hungry Nick was of no use to anyone.
“These are so much better than that healthy version Cheryl buys.”
“No disparaging your wife. She’s my favorite part of you.” She turned onto Elm Street and shook her head at the throngs of people milling around in the street. “This looks like a regular Saturday night crowd. I’m hoping they’re all too busy thinking about their next drink to notice a crime scene.”
Nick grunted. He licked his fingers, and pointed out the window. “There’s a parking space by the dumpster behind Henry’s Thrift Shop. It’ll be a lot easier to walk from there than to fight our way through the crowd.”
“I love how you know all the things. Plus, our scene just happens to be at Henry’s.” She turned in front of the building and drove down the narrow alley to find the spot exactly where Nick had promised.
“This is where I park when I come down here for barbecue at Pecan Lodge, you know, on nights Cheryl is working late and not policing my dinner with grilled chicken and salad. I know Lila Henry back from when I was working out of Central Patrol.”
Claire took the keys out of the ignition and grabbed her notebook from the console. “Let’s do this.” She stepped out of the car and took a deep breath. She’d seen plenty of dead bodies in her tenure as a homicide detective and even before that when she was on patrol, but she’d made a pledge at the start of her career to never become numb to the very real consequences of the crime she had dedicated her life to eradicating.
They edged through the crowd to the side of the building, and Claire flashed her shield at the harried uniformed cop tasked with keeping order.
“Glad you finally made it,” he said. “People are starting to get restless.”
“You should have backup any minute,” she said. “Where’s Cohen?”
He jerked his chin to the right and Claire spotted another officer standing with his arms crossed in front of the colorful mural on the side of Henry’s. She and Nick strode in his direction. “Talk to me,” she said as she approached.
Cohen stepped aside to reveal a young woman sitting on the ground, her back against the building. Her arms were slack and resting on her crossed legs and her eyes were closed as if she was concentrating. From a distance, she looked like she was engaged in a little outdoor yoga, albeit in a strange spot, but there was nothing namaste about her business suit or the distinct bruising on her neck.
“She doesn’t look dead,” Nick said.
“You heard him, Cohen,” Claire said. “Are you sure she’s dead?”
“She’s not breathing and she’s as stiff as the slice of bread my kid hid under the bed because he doesn’t like the multi-grain my wife makes him eat.”
“That’s super specific.” Claire looked at her phone and noted the time. “Anyone call the medical examiner?”
“He was my first call after you,” Cohen said. “My partner talked to the couple who found her. They snuck back around the side of the building for a quickie. They noticed her sitting there when they walked by but were too busy with each other to think anything other than crazy lady on the street. When they, uh, finished up and walked back this way, she was in the exact same position and they realized she wasn’t some homeless woman taking a rest. They called out to her and when she didn’t respond, they got closer and figured out something was up.” He pointed to a couple standing about ten feet away. “They’re over there if you want to talk to them.”
“On it,” Nick said. Claire watched him for a second and then turned to take in the rest of the curious crowd. Was the killer among them? Did the victim have injuries not yet visible? Two squad cars drove up to her left and she signaled for Cohen to stand his ground while she walked over to meet them.
She leaned into the passenger window of the closest car to see a familiar face. “Sergeant Lasko, you pull the short straw tonight?”
“Training officer called in sick and I didn’t trust the rookie here with his first real crime scene,” Lasko said, pointing to the young man in the driver’s seat.
“You’re in good hands, rookie. Sergeant Lasko was my training officer once upon a time.”
“Yep, I knew you when. Why’re you still pulling night shifts? I thought you’d be holding down a squad commander’s desk by now.”
Claire waved him off. “Someday. Someday. In the meantime, we could use some help with crowd control, and we’re going to need to canvass to find out if anyone saw anything. The ME isn’t here yet, but I’d say the body’s probably been here at least a few hours, likely since just after dark.”
“Sure thing.” He pointed out a spot to the rookie. “And we’ll be right there.”
Claire walked back to the body, relieved to have another experienced officer on hand. Nick was still talking to the freaked-out couple who’d called 9-1-1, and she took a moment to take in the scene. The mural on the wall behind the woman was a Dallas landmark, diverse faces set against a backdrop of the city skyline. They were a block away from the bars and restaurants, definitely off the beaten path. Whoever had left yoga woman posed hadn’t planned on anyone finding her right away. Had she been left for someone specific? Was her positioning meant to send a message?
She glanced up to see Nick walking toward her. “Anything helpful?”
“Not much. They’re pretty freaked out. I got their contact info and told them to call us if they remember anything else, but it’s pretty much just like Cohen said. Don’t think they’ll be sneaking off behind buildings to have sex again anytime soon.” He pointed over her shoulder. “ME’s here. They sent Reyes, thank God.”
Claire turned and waved Dr. Reyes over. She was not only the most efficient investigator at the ME’s office, but also a friend. “Thank God is right. Hey, Sophia, good to see you.”
“You still working all hours, Hanlon? When are you going to get a life?”
“When people stop dying, I guess.”
“Anyone ever tell you how nerdy you sound? Maybe you should go out with us doctors some time and loosen up a bit.”
“Sure, I’ll get right on that. I’m hoping you can tell us something useful before you cart her off. Definitely looks like a strangling to me, but time of death would be helpful. She’s in rigor.”
“Move over, Hanlon, and quit trying to do my job.”
Claire gave her space and watched Sophia put on gloves and start her preliminary examination. They’d known each other since Claire had been assigned to homicide three years ago, and they shared a mutual respect. The Dallas County ME’s office had a good reputation overall, and Sophia was not only good at her job, she was a star on the witness stand.
“Any ID?” Sophia asked.
“No purse, no phone. I didn’t look in her pockets yet, but unless there’s something on her person, we’ve got a Jane Doe.”
Sophia patted the woman’s suit jacket, and then slipped a hand in one of the pockets. “I think I’ve got something here.” She pulled out what looked like a business card and a folded piece of paper. Claire reached for the items, but Sophia held
them out of reach. “Hang on. You’ll get to see in just a sec.” She produced a couple of evidence bags from her kit and eased each item into a separate bag before handing them to Claire.
Claire stared at the business card first. Jill Shasta, sales rep for Optima Vending. The card listed an office downtown, less than a mile from where they were standing. Was this Jill or was this someone who knew Jill? Claire pulled out her phone and took a picture of the card. She held up the other, larger bag and stared at the paper Sophia had unfolded and placed in plastic. It took her a minute to register exactly what she was seeing, but she needed someone else to confirm she wasn’t going crazy. “Nick, come here.”
He looked up from his conversation with Cohen and headed her way. “Find out who she is?”
“Something else.” She held up the plastic bag. “Tell me what you see.”
Nick squinted and stared, looking from the dead woman to the paper in the bag. Claire watched him digest for a moment. “Holy shit.”
“I know.”
“What do you make of it?”
“This wasn’t some random murder. Whoever did this planned it carefully.” She pointed at the bag that contained a rough, but recognizable pencil sketch depicting the exact scene in front of them, sans body. “This drawing was in the victim’s suit pocket. We need to find out who the artist is and we’ll have our first real clue.”
Chapter Two
Riley set the weights down, too distracted by the incessant ringing of her doorbell to concentrate on how many reps she’d done. She’d started the day with excited anticipation about her meeting at the Lofton Gallery later that afternoon, but between burning her breakfast and her interrupted workout, it was turning into a typical Monday. Cursing whoever was too rude to realize she wasn’t interested in answering the door, she wiped her face with a towel and glanced out the peephole to see her father standing outside her door. Damn. She should’ve been prepared for this. After briefly toying with the idea of going back to her weights, she decided not to prolong this confrontation any longer. She threw open the door and, for the first time in fifteen years, she came face-to-face with her father.
