Frost

by Phaedra Weldon

  FROST

  Copyright © 2012 by Phaedra Weldon

  All rights reserved.

  Published by Caldwell Press

  www.caldwellpress.com

  Cover Design Copyright © 2012 Design by Trap Door

  Cover Image Copyright © Andrey Kiselev | Dreamstime.com

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely fictional. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  "The mistress which I serve quickens what's dead,

  and makes my labours pleasures. O, she is

  Ten times more gentle than her father's crabbed,

  And he's composed of harshness."

  ~ William Shakespeare, The Tempest

  -1-

  He wore my face.

  How often had I shown that face indifference as I shaved it. Washed it. And on occasion cursed it. I'd seen it greenish when sick, red when sunburned, and painted for Halloween.

  But I never saw it dead.

  "Jack, you okay?"

  Detective Gawain Crow, my partner on the Fulton County Police Force as well as my best friend, put a hand on my shoulder. He presented a pretty daunting figure with his tanned skin, long dark ponytail and black Stetson cowboy hat. Two thirds Cherokee and one third smart ass, he often overshadowed my more diminutive size. I clocked in at about five foot nine barefoot and never bothered to aid what he called my height-challenged handicap with heeled boots. I was comfy in sneakers—the more worn the better.

  I knelt beside the body. He was tucked between the front end of one car and the bumper of another. A couple of the uniformed officers had been dispatched to go house to house to find the owner of the cars so they could be moved, and to discover if anyone heard or saw anything. The whole scene was pretty melancholy in the early morning darkness as Christmas lights winked on and off in the yards and on the houses in the surrounding neighborhood.

  Yeah…Happy Holidays and good will toward men.

  The only thing visible from the road were his legs. Apparently his killer took his shoes.

  It was early morning of December 21st, 11:21 am. Sweat rolled down my forehead and into my eyes, which I rubbed with the bottom of my tee-shirt. The temperature hovered around 83º and meteorologists predicted the heat would stay because of an unprecedented patch of stubborn cold air, or it might have been a low pressure disturbance. Either way, it was damn fucking hot. And in December. I don't care how far south you go in the states, the temperature should be in the low to mid 40s.

  None of this was right.

  With the aggravating heat came the predictable aggravating increase in crime. Not just robbery, breaking and entering, or car jacking—but flashing. Too many streakers up and down Peachtree street, thinking just because it was hot, everyone needed to see their instrument of torture.

  Yet these perverted megalomaniacal pinheads weren't far from the truth of how the weather had changed the local fashion. Everyone at the crime scene was dressed for comfort. The officers usually in uniform had adopted a new look: black precinct logo tee-shirts and shorts. Even I'd forgone my usual shirt, blazer and jeans for black cargo shorts and a Rudolph tee-shirt.

  It was a present from my fiancé. I did not buy it.

  "Better not get squeamish at this—or you're not going to make it through that baby's birth. It gets messy." Doctor Elizabeth Noel, Chief Medical Examiner, pushed a thermometer into a jagged wound on the body's right side. "Core temp—wow—your double's a cold one, Jack." She frowned. "This isn't possible."

  "What is it?" Crow knelt beside me. I think he felt he needed to stick close to me. I mean, we were looking at one hell of a convincing body double.

  Noel tapped the thermometer's plastic display. "The core temp is lower than the surface temp. Inside he's reading twenty-two degrees. But his surface temp," she pointed to the temp-strip she'd placed over his skin, "says he's 95º. If I go by core I'd say he's been dead for a long time. But the surface says he's only been dead a few hours."

  I found my voice. "Rigor?"

  "Not yet," Noel pulled the thermometer out. Looking at her somehow grounded me because she was as dumbfounded as me. "I'd put his death at about two hours ago."

  Condensation clouded the crystal, obscuring the hands on my watch so I nudged Crow. "What time is it?"

  "Your watch all cloudy again?" He laughed and held up his phone, the time glowing 11:23 PM. "I told you to get that watch fixed."

  "I did." My focus returned to the body at my feet. CSU wasn't there yet—and going by their usual schedule—wouldn't show up till sometime between 3:00 am and 6:00 am. "Liz, you got cause of death?"

  "I'd say from the wound in his side and the position of it—he was stabbed up close. Whoever it was came up behind him and slipped it in. And—though I won't know for sure until I get him on my table—the asshole twisted it." She looked up at me. "Jack this is creepy. Is it possible you have a twin?"

  Crow slipped his phone back in his coat pocket.

  "I guess anything's possible. I was adopted so—maybe?"

  "Jack, you okay? You're paler than normal. I didn't mean to upset you about childbirth—Sarah's what—3 1/2 months at most? You've got time to build up that stamina." Noel narrowed her eyes at me a second before she looked at Crow and pointed her witchy finger at him. "I think he's heading for another attack. You know the drill. If he stops sweating—"

  "I got it. I'll be watching him, doc."

  The doc's concern wasn't without merit. I'm one of those lucky people fortunate enough to have experienced heat exhaustion. After the first experience I became susceptible to heat—more than the average guy. "Don't worry, Liz. I think I'll be fine."

  She moved her finger from pointing at Crow to pointing at me. "You'd better. You've been in the hospital eleven times for heat exhaustion since I've known you. I'm already uncomfortable looking down at this guy."

  "I'm not exactly enjoying myself here." I stood before crow did. "Who found the body?"

  "Donna Blankenship. Captain's talking to her over there."

  "The Captain?" I turned in time to see Captain Sheila Rucker marching toward us, wearing a yellow tank top and gray linen pants. The color made her easy to spot in a crowd. That and her voice, which sounded like crunching gravel. She rounded on me when she was close enough. "You got an explanation for this?" Rucker pointed at the body.

  I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand in a sort of unintentional salute. Sweat continued beading along my hairline and my shirt had a permanent pit-stain. "No Captain."

  Rucker handed me a small plastic baggie. "This was the only item found on the body. Take a look."

  Crow yanked a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and gave them to me. Once they were securely on I took the bag and dumped the simple brown leather wallet into my hand. With a glance at Rucker's unreadable—if not a bit perturbed—expression, I opened it up.

  Georgia Driver's license. A MARTA Breeze card. A few singles and a ten. I narrowed my eyes as I read the license. "Jason Frost. Twenty five. Lives at—" I looked up from the wallet. "How do you have a driver's license with no address?"

  She reached over the license and tapped the surface. "That tells me it's faked. What concerns me is the name. His name's Jason Frost. Your name is Jackson Frost."

  "He's Jason and I'm Jackson. Frost is a common enough name."

  "Not when two Frosts have the same face."

  I licked my lips and tasted salt. "I don't understand any more than you do why this guy looks like me." I looked down a the picture—at my face—and it was like looking at my own license. Same stats, birthday, age. I slipped it back in
to wallet, then zipped the wallet in the bag.

  She didn't say anything as she took the bag back and dropped it into her front pocket. The high powered lights set up around the area jacked up the heat but didn't reveal anything about what she was thinking.

  "Follow me. Both of you." She turned on her heel and stalked off.

  Crow shrugged as we filed in behind her. She moved between two parked cars directly opposite of the body to the sidewalk. Rucker turned once to make sure we were behind her before she ascended the walk up to a well lit front porch. We kept pace with her up those steps to the porch and I noticed the multicolored blinking garland wrapped around the porch railing. The light from inside, shinning through the window was warm and inviting. A young woman with long dark hair stood up from the porch swing when she saw us climb up.

  "Captain," she crossed her arms over her chest. "Was there something else? I told you all I know about Jason."

  "I have two detectives I want you to meet. They'll be working this case." She pulled Crow up first. "This is Detective Gawain Crow. Crow this is Donna Blankenship."

  Crow shook hands with the doctor. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Did you know the victim?"

  The question in his voice was something we were both thinking. Was she related to the deceased? Married? Dating? Coworker? Or was it just chance she found Mr. Frost?

  "It's nice to meet you detective," she recrossed her arms. "Jason was a good friend. We met a few months ago at a local coffee shop. He volunteered at the hospital where where I work, in the children's wing. We—he was coming over tonight to eat pizza and watch a movie."

  Dating then. I hung back out of sight, thinking I knew what the Captain had in mind.

  "And this is Detective Crow's partner, Detective Jackson Frost."

  That was my cue. I finished ascending the stairs and moved forward as Crow and Rucker stepped out of the way.

  Her reaction was instantaneous. I hoped freaked-the-hell-out was what Rucker was going for. Her eyes widened, her jaw slackened and her arms dropped to her sides. It wasn't a pleasant image, especially when her expression flew from disbelief to anger. She pointed at me but looked at Rucker. "What the fuck is this? You think this is funny?"

  Rucker's you-better-tone-it-down voice came out as she took a step toward Miss Blankenship. "I never think murder is funny, Miss Blankenship. I noticed a visual similarity between your friend and my detective—"

  "Similarity?" Blankenship pumped her arm a few times as if to repeatedly poke me in the eye. "Look at him. He's almost identical. Even their last names are the same." Her voice rose a few octaves. Blankenship was obviously upset. Maybe my face wasn't the one she needed to see right now.

  "Calm. Down. Detective Frost and I are just as puzzled by this as you are. Which is why I believe he's best for this job. Crow will be lead detective, but as a team, they're my best. Now," she looked at us before she fixed Blankenship with a softer expression. "They're going to question you and I want you to tell them everything you told me." She turned on her heel and marched back down the stairs.

  Blankenship's stare made me feel more than uncomfortable. "Look doc, I can sit this one out if I make you sad about your boyfriend. But I'm just as confused as you are and I'd like to find out who he was."

  She tilted her head to her right shoulder and her expression softened. "He wasn't my boyfriend. He was just a friend. But he was a nice guy—and I'm pissed off because someone killed a nice guy." She ran a hand through her thick blond hair and motioned for us to follow her inside. "Come on in where it's cooler. I have sweet tea and cheesecake. And coffee if you want something warm."

  Crow took the lead which I was fine with. I didn't think my head was where it needed to be. I glanced back down at the street where the body lay under a sweet gum tree. One of the cars had been moved, but not before a photographer took shots of the scene untouched. Those trees should have already turned by now and littered the roads with leaves of orange, yellow and red.

  "Detective Frost?"

  Blankenship stood just inside her doorway. I wasn't sure what she was thinking. I didn't understand why I felt uncomfortable and apprehensive about stepping into her house. But when I looked back down the street to the police tape, the barricade and the gathering crowd of neighbors, another sensation crept up along my back.

  Danger.

  -2-

  The sweat trickling over my skin froze the instant I entered the air-conditioned home of Donna Blankenship. It felt so good. Crow shivered in front of me. "Wow Miss Blankenship—you hang meat here often?" Oops. There goes my sparkling personality. Now it's obvious why Rucker usually had Crow take point.

  "No, Detective Frost. I'm not here often so the thermostat's set to 77º but since Jason was coming over to watch movies I moved it down to 50º or so. Jason was sensitive to heat."

  Crow turned and glared at me. I gave him an exaggerated shrug and the derpyest face I could make.

  The kitchen was nice and updated in comparison to other houses in this neighborhood. New granite counter-tops—probably one of those counter specials I was seeing on TV a lot. All stainless steel appliances, except the ancient microwave above the stove.

  Blankenship moved to the counter by the sink and gestured to the coffee machine. "If you want coffee, just open this, slip a cup in, shut it and press the button. The tea is in the large pitcher in the door of the fridge."

  "Thanks," Crow immediately selected a coffee and started his brewing. The break room in the station had one of the new one cup coffee machines. Not that I ever used it much. I don't like hot drinks.

  Blankenship pulled cream and milk out of the fridge and sugar out of the cabinet. Before she closed the door I noticed several cans of condensed milk. "Doctor—do you have a can of condensed milk open?"

  She looked at the cans and then looked at me. "Yeah. In the fridge."

  I found a container with the milk in it and started my own coffee as Crow and the doc sat down at the kitchen table. It was a nice one, with blonde wood and a white tile surface.

  "Miss Blankenship—" Crow began as he stirred his coffee.

  "Donna."

  "—Donna. You and Mr. Frost met at the hospital in the children's ward. Did you know if he had any enemies?"

  When the coffee finished I grabbed a large glass draining on the counter and filled it with ice. I poured the coffee in first, then poured in the thick, sweet milk. Using a tall spoon I noisily mixed the ingredients and sat at the table next to Crow. The weird silence caught my attention and I looked up to see Blankenship staring at me. "I'm sorry—did I do something wrong?"

  "No it's just—the only reason I have condensed milk in the house is because Jason brought them. He fixed his coffee exactly the way you just did. He wouldn't drink anything hot."

  Crow snorted. "Neither will he. Won't even have a hot chocolate, which isn't American."

  I stirred my concoction together, feeling more than a little uncomfortable. "I don't do well with heat."

  Donna continued to stare at me. "Detective Frost—"

  "Jack."

  "Jack—Frost?" she frowned. People usually had that reaction to my name. And that reaction came with a smile or an eye roll. But never with a look of confusion—or panic?

  "What's wrong?"

  She looked uncomfortable and a bit weirded out as she shifted in her chair and wrapped her hands around her mug. I waited her out and continued staring. It wasn't a police tactic as much as it was me thinking she was beautiful and I liked looking at her. She had a face that just got prettier the longer I looked at it. "It's—probably nothing."

  "Nothing doesn't usually upset people," Crow laced his fingers together and placed his hands on the table between his mug and Donna's. "Doc—we suspect your boyfriend was murdered. We don't know if it was a mugging—which seems unlikely since he still had his wallet on him with cash in it—or he was targeted."

  "Look—I can't tell you this enough. He wasn't my boyfriend," and she looked right at me. "We were frie
nds. It's just…your resemblance to Jason is uncanny. And your similarities, like the coffee and Detective Crow stating you don't drink anything hot. So, are you also prone to heat exhaustion too?"

  Crow snorted. I kicked him under the table. "Yes ma'am. When you mentioned Jason Frost also suffered from them—it felt a little unreal. But, that's not why you keep looking at me like that."

  "Like what?"

  "Like I'm going to break out into song any minute?" Yeah…sometimes I was a little odd.

  The comment brought out her smile, which was something I liked seeing on her face. "No, I don't. Not really. It's just—your name. Jackson—Frost. Did your mother give you that name?"

  It was obvious to me we weren't going to get very far unless I answered her questions. "I never knew my birth mother. But as far as I know it was the name the orphanage had on file for me. I still get a lot of teasing about it around Christmas."

  "Jason talked about Jack Frost…"

  "Yes, well that's nice," Crow interjected and I had the impression he was commandeering the conversation to steer it back where he wanted it. "Miss Blankenship, about enemies?"

  She sighed and still continued to glance at me as I drank my iced coffee. "Everyone that met him liked him. As far as I know he didn't have many friends. Not that he wasn't nice and sweet. He was the kids' favorite on several floors."

  "I see."

  I felt awful and pushed my coffee away. And I mean I felt physically awful. Shaky. A little nauseous. Was there something wrong with the condensed milk? "Donna—do you know Dr. Sarah Heine?"

  She fixed me with another of those stares. "I know of her. She's one of the pediatric oncologists. But I haven't actually met her. Why did you bring her up?"

  "She's my fiancé."

  Her mouth formed a perfect O. "I guess it's a good think she never met Jason? I'm sure she would have been just as freaked out as I am about how similar the two of you are—were," she lowered her gaze to her cup.