Page 20 of Sinful Promise
MINKA
“This is Minka Mayet, Chief Medical Examiner out of the George Stanley, reporting near the corner of Thirty-Third and West, West Copeland City.” I speak in monotone and get all the details recorded. “Assisting is Doctor Aubree Emeri. Our victim is not yet identified. No wallet. No phone. No distinguishing jewelry.”
As the familiar rumble of an engine hums louder, I look across the secluded street and watch the detectives pull up on the other side of the tape. They unfold their long legs from inside the car until they’re both standing tall and scanning the scene laid out before them.
Uniforms have already created a barrier to keep curious eyes at bay. Glaring yellow tape surrounds us on all four sides, both to keep us safe, and to ensure our crime scene remains as untouched as humanly possible.
Detectives Malone and Fletcher show their badges to the nearest uniformed officer before ducking under the tape and wandering closer.
“Reporting as primary detectives,” Aubree adds for the record, “Archer Malone and Charlie Fletcher.”
“We’re here.” Archer’s eyes search the mangled body laid out on the ground. Broken arm, broken leg. Probably a broken everything along his left side. “He caught the car hard, huh?”
My lips twitch with a smile. “More or less. First and foremost, we need to ID him. He belongs to someone, and though he’s not wearing a wedding ring…” I lean a little closer to peer at his hand, broken and twisted from impact, “the indentation on his finger implies he normally does. Tire tracks over there,” I nod to my left. “I’m thinking you could pull something from that. There’s also broken glass, and what appears to be a little of headlight, left just,” I nod just a few feet to my right. “There.”
“You’ve done our job,” Fletch chuckles. “Anything else,Officer?”
I purse my lips in response. “This is a pretty quiet road. Uniforms set up detours and taped us in, but I’ve yet to see a car try to approach in the thirty minutes we’ve been here. There are no houses in direct view, and timeline-wise, I’d estimate he was hit just after the morning rush. Residents were heading off to school and work, moving in every direction but this one.”
Thoughtful, considering, Archer brings his fingers up and rolls his bottom lip between them and his thumb. “Driver laid out inches of rubber, which implies they made a lot of noise. Smashed windshield, busted fender, flying body… in full daylight.” He raises a single, questioning brow. “And no one heard a thing?”
“None that are coming forward to speak.”
“Who called it in?”
Aubree turns to an occupied patrol car on the far side of the street, with red and blue lights spinning on top, though the sirens have been silenced. “We don’t know who she is, or what her connection is. But the cops have been minding her since we arrived. Probably a safe bet to assume she was first on scene.”
“I’ll go talk to the uniform and see what’s up.” Fletch moves away from our group and strolls with none of the usual bravado or energy he displays at work.
Frowning, I bring my gaze back to Archer. “What’s going on with him?”
Arch spares a glance for Aubree, then to the recorder in her hand that listens to everything we say. “Can you come over here?” he asks me, then he starts back in the direction of his car, knowing I’ll follow.
But first, I turn to Aubree and peel my gloves off my hands. “I’ll be back. Keep photographing the body. We’ve got time of death already, and transport is coming. Things will make more sense once we have an ID. As far as we’re concerned, we have a hit-and-run. Blunt force trauma. We’re aware, with almost certainty how he died.”
“This one is for the detectives to work,” she nods. “Got it.”
“Alright.” I snag a plastic evidence pouch from our murder kit—a bag of equipment we bring to every scene we attend—then setting my gloves inside and sealing it back up so the powdery residue they leave on my skin marks the clear plastic, I pass it to Aubree and start toward Archer.
“Hey.” When I’m within ten feet, I allow myself a moment to look him up and down, then to smile when he spins to meet my eyes. Then I nod toward a still-tense Fletch as he chatters to a uniform. “What’s going on?”
“Jada’s coming home soon, and he’s having a crisis about it.”
“Because he thinks he should get back with her?”
“Because he—” Archer drops his hands in his pockets and studies me with a frown. “Yeah. How’d you know?”
“Because he’s entirely too decent, and he’ll gladly put the happiness of his ex and his daughter before his own. He doesn’twantto be with Jada anymore, but I know he feels responsible for her. And we both know Mia would like her mommy and daddy to be together again. So…” I shrug. “It’s an easy assumption to make. Is he considering it?”
“No, he…” He rolls his shoulders forward. “He’soverthinking it. He wonders if heshould, because he feels bad for her. But you got it right the first time; he doesn’t want to be with her. So he asked my opinion.”
“About her?”
“About me and you,” he counters. “He asked if I would forgive you for sleeping with every pimp in the city, all for a dime bag.”
I choke out a laugh, aware my husband is grossly simplifying what was surely a complex conversation. “And would you?” I take another step closer to look up into his eyes. “If I made an itty-bitty mistake and accidentally fucked another guy?”
“You don’taccidentallyfuck someone else, Mayet.” His eyes burn with rage. But it’s a show—mostly. “Which is what I told Fletch. Jada made her choices. She did it on purpose, aware of the consequences that would come after. She can have forgiveness, if that’s what he wants to give her. But that doesn’t include a free pass to hurt the people you’re supposed to love.”
