Page 3 of Hell In A Handbasket
“You’re a dick,” Fletch moans. “We agreed you’d be gentle.”
“You sleep with my wife… you’re lucky Ionlypunched you in the face.” I spin the tip of a collection swab in Kerner’s blood, collecting as much as I can from the porous brick exterior. “Men would die for less.”
“While I admit to thinking your wife is a total cutie-patootie—” He climbs to his knees in my peripherals, then to his feet, only to sway since I did, in fact, hit him kinda hard. “I have never, and will never, bed your bride, asshole.” He limps closer and shoulder-checks me for the fun of it. “We came for the cigarette. Why are you cleaning the wall?”
“Because while you were lying down on the job, Kerner slipped and grazed his hand. This is called double and double insuring our case.” I drop the swab into the tube and then the tube into the bag. Finally, I turn and meet his eyes. And I definitely don’t look at the bruise already forming on his jaw. “We needed DNA for comparison. Now we got some.”
“He called me his friend.” He presses his palm to the underside of his jaw and tilts his head—pushing, pushing, pushing—until a loud pop reverberates along the alleyway. “Fuck. You didn’t have to hit me like that. Prick.”
“Stabbed you, too.” I tap his unharmed belly and slide my prop knife into another baggie. “Just another day at the office,Trev. Sounds like you made a new best friend while working undercover this month.”
“At least my other best friend has never knocked stars into my fucking eyes.” He rubs his jaw again, more focused on his pain than he is on our case.Pussy. “Elton’s a nice dude. Ya know, if we ignore the old lady he robbed and stabbed to death.”
“Robbery in broad daylight,” I whistle. “On a packed street.Withwitnesses. And the DA still wouldn’t accept our case without a fucking confession chipped in stone and a DNA sample connecting him to the scene.”
“So needy.” He spits blood onto the alleyway floor like a total newb.
“I could sweep that sample up and send it to the lab too, dumbass.” I nudge him back and slide each bag into one larger bag to send off to the lab.
But then I slip the final tube into my pocket for safe keepsies.
“Welcome back to being Charlie Fletcher.” I clap his shoulder and step around him to take out my phone. Gotta call in CSIs and photographers. “How’d it feel being Trevor Hastings?”
“Gross.” He pulls his shirt up, scowling at the mess of fake blood smeared on his belly. “I need to take a shower. And not just because you stabbed me.”
“Leave it, and we’ll head over to the George Stanley.” I scroll my contacts and find my go-to for crime-scene techs. Hitting dial, I bring the phone to my ear and meet Fletch’s stare. “I wanna see them freak out at all the blood.”
“They won’t freak out. They’ll just toss me in a fucking freezer and add me to their to-do list. And since it’s nearly the weekend, I probably won’t be assigned till Monday.”
“Lonely couple of days for you, then. You’ll have loads of time to meditate and think of Fifi.” When my call connects, I switch mental tracks with smooth efficiency. “This is Detective Archer Malone. Downtown P.D. Badge number seven-four-three-six-two-two. We need CSIs at my location to process a scene.”
“Sure thing, Detective. You need medical examiners, too?”
They act like there’s a dead person everywhere I go!“No M.E. required.” I brush my hand over my mouth to cover my smile, and rattling off our location, I file our newest piece of case evidence in a way IA won’t be able to pick apart.
Well, except for that extra sample we won’t tell anyone about.
Hanging up, then calling for a couple of uniforms to stand by and protect our scene, I check my text messages and find only one from my wife. Just one lonely, teeny tiny, itty-bitty text that could have been a rock,but isn’t.
“Chief Mayet is cranky today.” Snickering, I meander to the mouth of the alley and allow—this time—Fletch to lean across and check my screen. “An angry face and a gun pointed at its temple.”
“Sounds like you’re in for a fun evening.” It’s so fucking hot out here today, the sticky, gooey moisture on his shirt turns hard within minutes. What was sticking to his stomach is now a stiff, board-like section that looks an awful lot like he was fatally shot, but it’s dried to the same consistency as a pair of socks beneath a teen boy’s bed. “She’s been a little itchy the last couple of months, huh? Ever since the New York case.”
“Unsettled, I think.” Just as soon as a pair of uniforms arrive on scene, I nod in acknowledgment and start along the street, up one block, and around the corner until we reach our car. Sliding in, I jam a key into the ignition and have us moving just as Fletch fastens his seatbelt. “Janiesa’s case was a big deal. For Mayet’s psyche, ya know?” I glance over and find splatters of blood on his neck, too. And a little on his cheek. “She spent most of her life carrying that burden. The guilt. The trauma. The worry that another girl would be picked up soon. She wore that shit like it was a weight society demanded of her. And now he’s dead, and all her feminine rage is just…”
“Wasted?” he teases. “She’s got all this energy and nowhere to use it.”
“Basically. I’m not sure she knows who she is now that he’s dead. Obviously, she’s still her. She’s still the chief M.E. and she still runs her building with military-style intimidation. But every now and then, I think she remembers—the case, and then the fact it’s over—and she’s not sure what to do about all that.”
“These things take time. Kinda like with Jada.” Solemn now, his jaw clenches beneath rippling stubble. “We split a long time ago, and that took a bunch of getting used to. Now she’s gone, and that’s a whole othergetting used to,too. I was so accustomed to worrying about her that I realized it became a part of my routine. It was a part of my identity.”
“You mean exactly how we all said it was?” I tap his chest with the side of my fist. “Obsessed with being the martyr. Intent on being her savior.”
“Shut the fuck up.” He tosses my hand off and looks down at his bloody belly. “Jada was wrapped up in most of my core memories. Kinda like that case was most of Mayet’s. We can’t always control these things, which means we become their victims. And sometimes, we’re dragged behind that bullshit like we’re tied to a runaway horse. It’s a ride not so easily escaped, even if we have all the support in the world swearing they’ll help us.” Hesitating, he nibbles on the inside of his cheek. “She’s doing okay, though, right? She’s sleeping and eating and all that stuff?”
“Yeah.” I flick the left indicator on and bring us around a corner. “She’s eating and sleeping and healing. Now she’s learning how to use up the excess energy in ways that aren’t super toxic.”
“Like pretending to be an emoji face and shooting herself in the head?”
