Page 3 of Dirty Looks

There were shadows in my periphery—I only had eyes for what was in front of me—though I knew there were other officers and techs on scene. Just like I knew that there were tears streaming down Officer Benson’s cheeks as he cordoned off the area. He had a daughter about this girl’s age.

There was an underlying rage simmering inside the veteran cops working the scene.

Usually crime scenes were ordered chaos. There was chatter and noise and movement. Everyone had a job to do, but after a while, the job became monotonous. The longer and moreoften first responders worked these kinds of scenes, the more desensitized they became to the humanity of it. We always had to remind ourselves of the humanity. It’s what kept us grounded. It’s what kept us sane. And sometimes not so sane.

But this crime scene was different. It was quiet—eerily so—and there was a slow-motion quality about everyone’s movements, as if reality hadn’t quite caught up to our brains.

It had been a wet spring, one for the record books, and we’d had thirty straight days of rain as we moved into the first week of April. The ground was soggy and damp from the early morning fog, but there had miraculously been no rain overnight to wash away blood spatter and physical evidence.

I was the coroner for King George County, Virginia. Some of the cops affectionately called me alast responder.There was a responsibility that went along with the title. It was my job to be a voice for those who no longer had one. It was my job to collect the evidence and put together the puzzle of what happened to victims so criminals spent the rest of their lives behind bars. My job was to bring justice.

But looking at the small and broken body of an unknown girl, I wasn’t sure there was any amount of justice I could bring her. Nothing would be enough.

“You okay, Doc?” Martinez said low and under his breath so no one else overheard.

I started to tell him I was fine, but I stopped myself. I’d been around cops too long. Cops and feelings didn’t exactly go hand in hand. Expressing emotions was considered a sign of weakness.

“I can’t say that I am,” I admitted.

He blew out a breath. “Yeah. Me too.”

“It’s always harder when it’s kids,” I said. “We’re supposed to protect the weak and the innocent. But there are still people in the world who can do this to a child. I’ll never understand it.”

“There’s been a battle between good and evil since the beginning of time,” Martinez said. “My abuela always says to remember that there was murder when there were only four people on the planet. It’s a battle good will continue to fight for as long as we’re on this earth.”

“You sound a little like Reverend Thomas,” I said.

“Hey, I was an altar boy,” he said. “I know my stuff.”

“Your abuela should be proud.”

“She is,” he said. “Which is why I’m her favorite instead of my no-good cousins.”

The conversation with Martinez had given me enough time to settle and to see clearly.

“I guess it’s me and you on this one,” I said, finally able to look him in the eyes.

Martinez had earned the nickname of GQ Cop in the squad room once he’d been promoted to detective and no longer had to wear a uniform. He was smooth and charming and charismatic, and he would probably make a great politician one day. He had Latino good looks—a strong jaw and dark, hooded eyes that women found irresistible. His hair was stylishly cut and his face shaved smooth.

He wore an expensive dark gray suit, a silvery gray shirt, and a tie with hints of lavender and silver in a checked design. It was barely six o’clock in the morning and he looked like he’d stepped out of a magazine. The press loved him as much as women did.

I looked down at my own standard-issue dark blue coveralls withCoroner’s Officestenciled across the back, and was glad they covered up the old gray sweats I’d managed to pull on when I’d rolled out of bed that morning. I wore a baseball cap that had the KGSO logo embroidered on the front to cover my bed head.

I shivered, wishing I’d had time to make coffee before I’d left the house, but it wouldn’t have done much more than warm my hands. I’d left my fleece-lined windbreaker in the car andwas regretting the decision now. The constant rain had kept the overnight temps unseasonably cool, and it was still in the mid-forties, though the brisk wind made it feel colder.

Looking between the two of us, it was obvious Martinez and I were not cut from the same cloth. It would be interesting working with him solo for the first time.

I had no idea where Martinez got his money from, and to my recollection, no one had ever bothered to ask. All I knew was that he couldn’t live how he did on a cop’s salary. I figured it was probably better not to ask questions. I liked Martinez and he was a great cop. No point in ruining a good thing.

“I guess that makes us partners,” he said, squinting against the pale sunlight that was trying to eke its way through the clouds. “Just so you know I always like to drive, and I hate eating sandwiches for lunch.”

“Good,” I said. “Because I like being driven around, and I also don’t like to eat sandwiches for lunch. Sounds like a match made in heaven”

“The sheriff and Cole are stuck in the Simmons trial all week,” he said, pulling out a piece of chewing gum from his pocket and unwrapping it. “Lucky bastards.” He stuck the gum in his mouth and put the wrapper back in his pocket.

“Yeah,” I said, scanning the scene. “It’s a big case. Very high profile. Lots of media attention.Nationalmedia.”

“Pain in the ass,” he said, shaking his head. “Could be weeks before they’re out of there.”

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