Page 19 of Sinful Promise
“You’re so dumb.” But she snickers so I feel her happiness in my gut. “Hit-and-run. The guy’s really dead,” she adds with a gentle laugh.Won’t make that mistake twice. “And guess what we don’t have?”
“Hm…” I back up to the brick wall of Fentone’s safehouse and watch Fletch torment himself with his thoughts. His pacing feet, and his balled hands dropped into his pockets. He wears a shoulder holster, different to how I carry my weapons, so when he hunches in on himself and slouches forward, the leather strains tight. “Coffee?” I guess playfully. “That seems like something you’d call me for.”
“Har,” she drawls humorlessly. “We’re without a lead detective,Detective. A civilian called in the hit-and-run, and uniforms arrived on scene to secure it. But communication broke down somewhere in the middle, so now I’m on site, but I have no detectives to shout at.”
“So…” I smile when Fletch comes around and brings his eyes up to mine. “You’re asking me for a recommendation?”
“I’m asking you to report to the scene, dummy. Fentone’s place could do with a little less manpower,” she murmurs. “Adding another case and a minor distraction to your workload can only help. Bring Fletch over and join me for work today.”
“Ya know…” I pull the phone from my ear and place her on speaker. I don’t have to announce I’ve done so; she’s smart enough to hear the difference in audio. “You didn’t have to run a man down and cook up a homicide just because you missed me, Doctor. I’d have sent you a selfie if you asked.”
“Mmhm.” I see clearly in my mind the way she purses her lips. “Reporting or not? Your crime scene’s getting cold, Detectives, and everyone knows hit-and-runs are statistically difficult to solve.”
“We’ve got another case?” Confused, Fletch searches my phone screen for sense. “We’re already primary here.”
“I know you can handle it,” Minka says simply. “We’re on Thirty-Third and West. Male, early-to-mid forties. He’s not wearing a Rolex, but he’s notnotwearing money, either. Short, sandy-brown hair, no scruff on his chin. Neat fingernails, twice a week spin class physique. Approximately five-nine, a hundred and seventy pounds. In or out, Detectives? If you can’t be here in twenty, I’ll call the next in line.”
I meet Fletch’s gaze. Probe his thoughts.
He wants to solve Fentone’s case, and he has Jada on his mind. He already has a lot going on, which probably means he shouldn’t take on another case.
But when he nods, one short, sharp tilt of his head, I lift my shoulders in a shrug.
“We’ll be there,” I tell my wife. “M.E. and transport are already here for Fentone. Crime scene techs are on site and pulling what they can.” Then I lower my voice and speak just for her, “His laptop has a bunch of stuff on it that would’ve sent him away. He was sick, Mayet.”
“Yeah.” Exhaling, I know she flattens her lips to keep from chewing them. “I already figured he was horrible. Have you sent the laptop over to Franklin yet?”
“He’ll get it soon,Detective. Also, Fletch is having a midlife crisis.”
He scowls. “I am not.”
“Oh?” Minka’s tone lightens. “What’s worrying you, Fletch? Anything I can help you with?”
“You can step—”
“Don’t even think about it.” I smack his chest and shove him back before he asks for a night in bed with my wife. Or a blowjob. Or perhaps her hand in marriage.
Even knowing he would never touch her, hearing him joke about it is still like a fire poker to my eyeballs.
“We’re only a few blocks from you,” I tell her. “We’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.”
“Alright.” I know Minka checks the time. To keep me accountable. To keep her business chugging along and her schedule tight. “I’ll see you soon. Thanks, Detectives.”
“Yep.”
Hanging up and slipping the device back into my pocket, I turn toward the house and start through the front door.
“Doctor Torres.” I stop at the bottom of the stairs when I find the man descending and escorting Fentone’s bagged body. “We’re heading out, but we’ll be available by phone. Get our cause of death,”a blade to the heart, “and the time too, if you can.”
Though of course, I know that too. But skipping ahead and not doing the work is the quickest way to get my ass tossed to internal affairs.
“We have to attend another incident,” I explain, “but we trust you’ll take care of this for us.”
“It must be the busy season for dead people,” Torres quips, trailing off when no one finds the humor he was trying for. Chagrined, he clears his throat. “Sure, Detective Malone. I expect to have my preliminary report by the end of the day. Final findings will take longer.”
“No problem.”
I spin on my heels and head back through the door. The second my feet touch the concrete sidewalk, I snatch my keys from my pocket and glance to Fletch. “Let’s go see what Mayet has for us.”
