Page 2 of The Bridesmaid
‘Daddy?’ she breathed. ‘Daddy. He’s back.’
Chapter Two
HOLLY
There’s an oil and kerosene smell to the back alleys of New York’s Queens in the early hours. It matches the searing yellow slash ofPOLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS, and the steady white solar pulse of evidence photography.
A blare of police radios clouds the air as I approach; the orchestra of my working life.
As I slip quietly below the crime scene tape, an officer I’ve never seen before heads in my direction.
‘Excuse me. Miss? You can’t be in here.’
I flash him my ID. ‘I work for Liberation Law,’ I explain, politely. ‘You have our client under arrest. I’m Holly Stone.’
He blinks once. Twice. Matching my appearance to my words. My hair is deep blue, and my lipstick violet. The lacy cuffs of my black skull-print dress, its ribbon ties drawn around my curving frame, and a whole clutch of skull and pentagon silver jewelry.
‘You’re … Alawyer?’ he manages. His eyes sweep my lip piercing and the unnatural hue of my shoulder-length hair, before landing back to my ID.
‘I’m a freelance forensic,’ I explain. ‘And I’mreallynot a morning person,’ I add, ruefully, delving in my studdedbackpack and unearthing a breakfast Twinkie along with my crime scene coveralls.
The officer’s uncertain expression hasn’t wavered, but he lifts the tape, and begins explaining the scene as I put on my protective gear, while demolishing the last of the Twinkie in two short bites.
‘Whew,’ I say, yanking the coveralls up and over my waist, ‘they don’t make these for curvy girls, I’ll tell you that much. OK. Tell me what’s going on with the scene.’
‘The victim looks to have been stabbed,’ he says. ‘Your client was seen fleeing the scene by a reliable witness.’
‘No witness is reliable,’ I tell him. ‘I’m here to look at the data.’
The officer leads me to the remains. The victim is a young man in a hooded top, jeans and sneakers. His legs are splayed on the damp ground, blood soaking a wide pool underneath him. He hasn’t yet been loaded into the body bag laid out at his side.
I squat down. It’s a strange thing about death. The lifelessness of a corpse always cements in my mind the vibrancy of life. All those cells and vessels lying quiet hold a beauty that never fails to motivate me.
‘Whatever happened,’ I promise him quietly, ‘there’s evidence here somewhere.’
I tune out the background noise and let my attention rest on the key areas. Knife wound to the chest. Something about his sneakers. There’s a degree of blood-soaking that doesn’t correspond to what I can see of his socks. A rusting iron fire escape just above us. An arc of blood on the wall behind the body. I stand and walk closer to this last detail, until I’m inches away, looking close at the blood droplets. My finger traces the air. Left to right. Right to left.
‘Holly?’ A familiar voice breaks the spell. I twist to see Lieutenant Howard Green, his mischievous smile belying the age of hislined features. He used to take me on ride-alongs back when I was a kid. ‘What are you doing here? Doesn’t that hot-shot law firm keep you busy enough?’ He grins.
My smile wavers, and I rub the back of my neck. ‘I kind of quit.’
‘You quit working forAttorney Simone Walters?’ His face couldn’t channel more disbelief if he tried. ‘The two of you were inseparable.’
‘TV changes people.’ I can’t meet his eye. ‘Simone started choosing cases for publicity instead of justice.’
He frowns, unconvinced. ‘You sure you didn’t just want an excuse to miss the awards dinner last week?’
‘You know how I am with fancy dinners. All that cutlery.’
He sighs. ‘So buy a dress. Learn how to use a fork, already. Holly, you won two out of three categories in forensic breakthroughs, and you weren’t there to pick up your own trophy.’
I shrug. ‘I had work to do. You can never examine evidence too thoroughly.’
‘Spoken like a true forensic. And for the record, Holly,youmight be locked in a basement, examining twenty thousand blood-stains in pursuit of truth, but not everyone in the private system is a purist.’ He levels an accusing stare.
To my immense relief, we’re interrupted by the same nervous-looking young officer who was reluctant to let me on the scene. ‘Miss Stone?’ he says. ‘There’s a delivery guy on the other side of the crime tape.’
‘For me?’ A million questions rise up. In my line of work I often get urgent documents, but delivered straight to the scene is a first.
