by David Skato
Jessi walked from the passenger side to meet Dontae’ at the police tape as she takes a bite of a breakfast burrito. Her long hair whipped lightly in the small breeze. Her full lips and light skin hid her nationality very well. There was no way to tell her background with a glance.
Ducking under the yellow tape, they headed towards the body. An illumination catches the corner of Dontae’s eye, causing him to turn and check out the video displaying on the billboard.
“Only 7 Days Left! The new Bonvovia 10X includes unlimited talk text and data, a 3D camera, a terabyte of free cloud storage, face recognition, and voice translation earbuds, all free when you sign up for a $10.99 per month premium account of Quest. This deal won’t last! See your nearest retailer for details.”
The mixed images of bathing suits, apps, and funny videos immediately indicate that this ad targets teens and young adults. Shaking his head, he continues to the damaged Camaro with Jessi following close behind, shoving the last bite of her breakfast burrito into her mouth.
Dontae’ signals at one of the officers who lifts the sheet revealing Rochelle’s body. Dried caked blood drew a line from her lifeless eyes to her ears in what would be her last cry. Blood from a single broken rib protruded from her chest, staining the already red dress. This blurred the lines between what was blood and what was dress. Her arms, broken from the fall, dangled on an extra fall-made-joint between her elbows and her wrists, with the left one splitting the skin and exposing bone.
“Damn,” he whispers, instantly recognizing her. Jessi stops just close enough to look over Dontae’s shoulder. The sound of her chewing annoys him to the point where he gives her a slight glance. “How can you eat and look at this shit?”
Without taking her eyes off the body, “Easy, with my mouth,” she says as she strikes a little smirk. He was clearly not amused. Suddenly, Jessi puts her hand over her mouth, preparing to speak and making sure that burrito crumbs didn’t come spewing out. “Oh, shit that’s, you know, that, that singing chick, what’s her face!” She snaps as she stumbles over her words.
Dontae’ interjects.
“Rochelle.”
Jessi's face turns to one of concern. Looking at a dead body was one thing; looking at a celebrity dead body was another.
“Dude, what the fuck?” She looked up, noticing the broken window. “Damn. That’s high.”
The two walked into the front doors of the Quest building and the modern lobby. A few uniformed officers stood around, some laughing and joking while others stare at their phones. One of the officers moves towards the detectives. Dontae’ notices the strong smell of cigarettes and, soon after, can quickly determine where it originated. The officer’s gapped teeth were not well maintained, and with his weight, you had to wonder what the requirements were to become a police officer.
“Detective Wade?” he asks.
Dontae’ confirms.
“This is why we called you specifically.”
The officer guides them to an iPad sitting at the reception desk.
The iPad reads:
“Dontae’ Wade – Check in: 4:47 A.M. “
Dontae’ looks up at the already shaken receptionist. His slim body, very well-groomed hair, and feminine poster signifies his lifestyle.
“How is this list generated?”
The guy stands. “When people come in, they sign in on that iPad. Once they hit that green sign-in button, it populates right there at the top.” He points.
Dontae’ looks interested. “So, I could sign in as, say, Michelle Obama, and that would be ok?”
The guy smirks, “Baby, Barack would be better suited, since ya’ll both fine.” He quickly realizes that Dontae’ isn’t interested. “I mean, yes. But not if you are going to floors eighteen to twenty-eight. You need an ID to access those, or the person on duty has to buzz you up, but that requires an appointment.”
“Interesting.” Dontae’ thought.
He Takes a look around, noticing all identifying insignia belonged to Quest as well as spotting several security cameras. “What’s on floors eighteen through twenty-eight?”
“The executive floors,” the receptionist responds proudly as if the company belongs to him personally.
“10 executive floors?” Dontae’ ask.
The receptionist proudly quips. “Those are the most important employees.”
Dontae’, not the least bit impressed, pushes on. “Who was at this desk at about 4:30 this morning?”
“No one. The building closes at 6 pm and opens at 7 am. Anyone coming after that has to know the code to the front door.”
“Where’s the open and close log for the front door?”
The guy clicks on the computer. Dontae walks around to check out the screen.
The man points at the screen. “As you can see, there was only one opening at 4:46 am. The next one was me at 5:41 am when I opened the building for the police.”
Dontae’ turns to face one of the cameras. “Burn me a disk of all cameras from the last 48 hours and buzz us up. Thanks.”
“No problem,” He responds with a seductive smile.
Jessi and Dontae’ walk to the elevator.
An officer standing guard speaks arrogantly with a smirk, “I assume you want floor eighteen.”
They walk into the elevator. As the door closes, Dontae’ looks at Jessi. “That is high.”
The elevator rises swiftly and “bings” to a stop on floor 18. The doors open, and the two walk down a hall typical for millennial employees. The murals delight with vibrant colors and images of people breakdancing, doing yoga, and beach bumming. Jessi and Dontae make it to a room with a single strip of police tape across the entrance. The crime scene door is barely cracked enough for a body to squeeze through. Dontae’ pushes, but the motion is abruptly stopped by something blocking the door. They squeeze through. Once in, they both notice why the door would not open; desks are piled behind it. A cool but strong breeze brushes Dontae’s face as he looks towards the broken window. Paper floats on the wind throughout the room, with most of it planting on the back walls with nowhere else to go. As they walk closer, the sound from the footsteps connecting with the increasing depth of water left by the storm goes from a small pit-ty-pat to almost a gushing. The glaring sunshine now beaming directly into the office building makes the wet floor appear like an endless pool. Dontae’ approaches a young Hispanic officer scratching his head as he holds his hat with the same hand.
“Give me a rundown of what happened.”
The officer, hat now firmly on his head, obliges the request. “When I first got here, I couldn’t get in. The door was locked. I immediately called for backup and waited to make sure no one came out in or out. After maintenance unlocked the door, we still had a little trouble opening it because the young lady had pushed several desks up against it. After a couple of us pushed it opened, we have what you see here.”
Dontae’ takes a glimpse out of the window, then to the door.
“So she locked herself in?” he asks.
“Yeah. I guess. I guess she didn’t want any interruptions; when; as she; you know.” He tilts his head in a “diving out of the window” motion.
Without responding, Dontae’ walks to the pile of desks and crouches to his knees. Just beyond his reach, he notices something. He takes his cellphone from his jacket pocket and uses it as an extra extension to slide the object towards him. Taking a plastic glove from another inner pocket, he picks up an ID card. He stands and holds it towards Jessi, who is following closely.
“Now we know how she got in,”' He quips.
Jessi takes a closer look and reads out loud. “Adonis Sterling.”
“How do we know it didn’t just fall off a desk when she pushed them?”
Dontae’ smirks. “Good question rookie. We don’t. But if you look at the clip-,”
he touches an alligator clip placed firmly on the top of the ID,
“-and noticed the sign in the lobby saying all employees must have badges
clearly visible at all times, the odds are, he didn’t leave this at work.”
“I see,” She nods.
Dontae calls one of the uniformed officers over. He looks at his badge, which reads, “Hernando Vasquez.”
“Got any evidence bags, Officer Vasquez?” He asks.
“Yes,'' Hernando responds.
He takes out a plastic bag and hands it to Dontae’. Dontae’ places the ID inside. He then walks to the window and looks out.
The wind strikes his face causing him to reflect on the fact this it’s much colder than on the ground level. He takes a bird’s eye view of the car that is now being placed on a tow truck, as well as a hearse carrying Rochelle’s body to the morgue. Seeing hearses always drudged up feelings of sadness in Dontae’. He would think about how that’s the person’s last ride. How would his last ride be? Would there be a parade of a hundred cars with a full police escort? Would he be old because they say only the good dye young? He wasn’t good. But he wasn’t bad either. So, did that mean a middle-aged death? No. He was going to see retirement. He was going to see old age. He was - Bullshitting himself.
Something was different this time. His thoughts were different. This time he thought about Rochelle, the person. Not just another body. He thought about having it all, then just like that, ending it. (stopped here)
He looks to the right and notices a piece of paper caught on the railing blowing and flailing in the wind. He takes a firm grip on the window frame just above his head. His shoes crunch and swept glass as he plants his feet firm on the wet ground. He steps out on the ledge, being careful not to lean forward too much because that would result in a fall that Rochelle was all too familiar with. He slides carefully to the right towards the paper, his back firmly against the wall.
“What are you doing?” Jessi hastily asks.
“Stay here. I’ll be right back,” he calmly responds.
Dontae carefully slides along the building, making sure to keep the back of his head pressed firmly to the wall. A slight slip causes dust to fall and sends Dontae’s heart racing as he struggles to find something to hold. After a couple of tries, he manages to grab onto another part of the window frame and catches his balance. He takes a deep breath and continues. He stoops down and reaches carefully for the sheet of paper. He picks up the paper and carefully slides back to the window and then into the building.
“What is it'?' Jessi asks.
“A note,” He hands it to her.
“Russian?”
“No. Looks like Latin.”
“I wasn't big on foreign language class.” She quips.
He looks around, “This is out of place.”
He takes a picture of the note with his cell phone then calls the officer over. “Put this into evidence with the rest of the things.” Also, get forensics to bag some of that soot by the door. I want to know what it is and where it came from.” The officer nods and walks away with the bag. Dontae’ looks out of the window to the adjacent building, where he can vaguely see a man that seems to be watching them. The already barely visible man notices Dontae’ looking in his direction and suddenly dashes out of sight. Dontae starts towards the elevator, with Jessi following closely behind. He presses the “1st” floor but notices two round plates in the place of what looks like floors 29 and 30. He looks up, thinking but brushes it off as nothing unusual. The elevator opens, and they walk out. He turns towards Jessi.
“This wasn’t an ordinary suicide.”
“I agree. Why would someone sign your name on the visitor’s log?”
“They wanted me here. I’m homicide; I don’t work suicides. The question is, why me? Why did she block the door? Who was she trying to keep out? That person had to have already been in the building. Which makes no sense.”
“Yea, kind of counter intuitive to run in the building with Jason.” Jessi scoffs. “Oh I know. Maybe it’s like that movie. I made it ma. I’m on top of the world! ahhhh. Splat.“
Dontae cuts his eyes at her, unamused.
“I know. I’m going to hell,” she smirks.
“Come on. You watch too much TV, “he states as he stops by the front desk, where the receptionist happily hands him a stack of discs.
“Here's the footage you asked for,” he says, smiling at Dontae’.
“Thanks,” he takes the discs and hands them to Jessi.
“Don’t skip a frame.”
She responds, confused, “You’re kidding right?”
“Congratulations on making detective rookie,” He laughs.
“Damn,” she exclaimed.
The two detectives walk out of the building and to the car. The sun was now a bit higher in the sky and the area where the body laid just a few minutes ago was all clean. Just like that, everyone else’s life goes on. Would anyone even remember that there was a body here? When people find out that it was Rochelle, the parking spot might sell at a premium.
CHAPTER III
The homicide bullpen is no different than those you see on television. Detectives with loose ties fuss over paperwork, make calls following up on leads, suspects handcuffed to chairs either waiting to be interrogated or just finished the process. The smell of stale coffee and cheap cologne fills the air.
A nice sized office with a large emblem of an unfamiliar signature stenciled on the glass sits in the corner of the bullpen. Dontae’ sits at his very neat and tidy desk where everything is stacked perfectly leveled, potentially signifying a need for order in a place filled with chaos. A few feet away, Jessi’s desk blends perfectly with the atmosphere as she manages to find space for her keyboard and mouse to click through the videos from the crime scene. Dontae’ searches the internet and locates a number for Quest Incorporated. He picks up the phone and dials.
“Hi, can I speak to a Mr. Adonis Sterling? “
He pauses.
“He works there.”
He falls silent for a moment, listening to the person on the other end. “Really? okay, Thanks.” He turns his chair to Jessi.
“Mr. Adonis doesn't work for Quest. The clerk couldn't find anything on him.”
“You’re shitting me?”
“Nope.”
Jessi grabs her jacket and stands. “What are we waiting for? Let's go pick him up.”
“Slow down, rookie,” he rubs his chin. “Tell me something.”
She sits back down, pouting.
He questions her, “If I’m a superstar, why would I go into a random building and jump out of it?”
“Because you’re crazy as hell? I don’t know. Why?” she countered.
“Now take out the building being random. Now we are left with, what's special about that building?
“It’s Quest so maybe she wanted to update her status. D - E - D. Dead”, she spells the letters in the air with her finger.
Dontae' thinks for a second. “Wait? Oh wow, You're right.”
“As always,” she quips. “About what?”
Dontae’ now excited, “where is her phone? There was no phone found at the scene. Everyone has a phone, right? Let’s go on a field trip. Roland Walsh should be in by now.
Jessi grabs her jacket. “Shit, we’re going to visit a billionaire. I need to touch up my makeup.”
Dontae looks at her.
“What?” she asks with fake innocence. “I’m not going to work up in here all my life!” She pauses. “Damn man. I'm just kidding,” she states with a vicious eye roll.
The team arrives to the site of news crews hovering around the scene. Dontae’ removes his badge from around his neck and places it into his pocket. He nods at Jessi to do the same. She obliges. They walk directly past the crews and into the building unbothered. Now sitting at the desk was a young blond woman who, on the surface, seemed a bit high maintenance. As they approached the counter, she made a face as if she didn’t want to be bothered with “these little people.” Dontae’ removes his badge from his pocket and places it back around his neck as Jessie does the same. The woman’s attitude quickl
y changes.
“Here to see Roland Walsh,” Dontae’ states with high demand.
The woman darts a fake smile and picks up the phone. “I got two police officers here to see Mr. Walsh.” The woman then listens for a bit.
Jessi, a bit annoyed, leans in, “detectives.”
Dontae’ nudges her with his elbow.
“Floor twenty-eight,” she pauses for a slight second, looks directly at Jessi and raises her eyebrows, “officers.”
The woman arrogantly rolls her eyes, intentionally ignoring Jessi’s request to be addressed as “detectives.”
Jessi, now highly annoyed, “we really gon’ do this, huh?”
The woman responds nonchalantly, not making eye contact and picking at her nails. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
Dontae’ tugs Jessi away from the desk. They walk to the elevator and wait for the doors to open. When the doors open, they step in. Jessi leans back out, “It’s detective bitch.” Dontae’ tugs her back into the elevator as the doors slide close.
“What?”
“Professionalism?” He shakes his head.
“She was trying me?”
“Millennials.” He states as he rubs his forehead.
The doors open to a completely different atmosphere. This sight was magnificent in all its glory. Amazing 16th-century paintings lined the gold-trimmed beige walls. The detectives' reflection on the beautiful marble floor followed them as they walked down the lavender-scented hallway. With the striking look and feel of this place, you knew immediately that this was the work of privilege.
The detectives noticed a vacant reception-like desk with a steaming coffee cup sitting on a treebark coaster. Dontae’s eye catches an unusual painting at the end of the hall. The image is of a man in what appears to be a donkey costume with one hand over his face and another holding what looks to be weird glasses. Something is very off-putting about the grin of the man. It’s almost as if you can hear the evil laugh-cry of the man whose small brown teeth and large gums made Dontae’s skin crawl.
