She flipped through each paper and photo in the file rapidly, running a finger down each page as her eyes darted back and forth. Did she have a photographic memory? Finally, she grabbed a picture from the file, marched to the white board and secured the picture in place with a magnet. She then took a red dry erase marker and wrote ‘victim’ in bold capital letters.
Despite his lack of interest, Park studied the girl in the photo. It was the only thing in the room he could focus on that wouldn’t lead him right back to Gift’s innocent little face and his own dirty, dirty thoughts.
The girl was young—high school age. She wore a pale blue polo embroidered with ivy leaves around a large crest. A school uniform of some sort. Maybe a Catholic school. She had chestnut hair, hazel eyes, and perfect teeth that Park suspected were from her orthodontist more than genetics. Her peaches-and-cream complexion assured Park that her murder was likely already all over the news.
The Watch might not be tasking them with taking out a fascist dictator, but a girl like that garnered international interest. Eliminating her killer without drawing attention wouldn’t be easy.
“Who is she?” Payton asked.
Luca took the other folder in hand, flipping it over but not reading the contents. “Her name was Madison Byerly. Age: fifteen. Honor student at St. Agnes Prep School for Girls. It’s a cold case.”
“How do you know that?” Drake asked, frowning at the table in confusion like he expected to find the information on its surface.
Luca shrugged. “I remember when it happened. It was international news for, like, ten seconds. Until the next pretty girl ended up dead, anyway. They kept a lot of the details hush-hush, which I imagine had to do with her parents’ connections, but they never did solve her murder, so whoever did it is still out there.”
“What happened to her?” Jay asked, his soft accent landing somewhere between formal British and native Indian. If Park remembered correctly, his parents split their time between Delhi, London, and the US.
Persephone leaned over and grabbed another photo, slapping it onto the board beside the first. This one was much different. A body lay on a filthy green carpet, limbs askew, bloodstained hair covering a chalky bluish complexion with only one milky white eye visible.
It was hard to resign the girl in the photo on the left with the one in the photo on the right. The images were clearly crime scene photos. Tiny yellow triangular markers sat beside several objects in the room. A large crystal ashtray propped against the leg of a couch. A black purse with a gold chain, the contents of which spilled onto the floor.
The girl herself wore a short sequined dress that was hiked up around her waist, not necessarily because she’d been sexually assaulted, but because the scrap of fabric looked barely big enough to cover the girl from chest to thigh and she’d clearly put up a fight. Good for her.
Another bright yellow marker sat beside a garish dangly earring on the floor, and another by one clear stacked heel, the type favored by porn stars and exotic dancers. The other was still on the girl’s foot.
“That is her?” Mos asked. ‘That is the same girl?”
“Yes,” Jay said. “At least, according to the police report.”
Morgan stood, walking until she was directly in front of the board before hopping up onto the table, long legs dangling from her plaid skirt. “How did that”—she pointed to the smily girl, then swung her finger towards the new photo—“become that?”
“Drugs?” Remi asked quietly.
“Tox screen only shows molly and phentermine in her system,” Lennon said, holding up a piece of paper from the file. “Hardly addictive.”
“What’s with the hooker heels?” Dove asked.
“Kind of matches the rest of her outfit,” Payton said, rocking his chair in short little bursts.
“But they don’t,” Dove said. “Not really. Like, why is she wearing that cheap dress, fake jewelry, and those shoes when her purse is worth six grand?”
Drake was looking down at his phone now. “It says she was found in a trailer park off MLK Boulevard approximately four days after her parents reported her missing. How does a girl like that not get noticed? Aren’t trailers, like…close together? Nobody in that trailer park saw her?”
“Or nobody wanted to get involved,” Gift said.
“Gift’s right,” Payton said. “People tend to mind their own business, especially in rougher neighborhoods. It’s safer that way.”
“I’m sure you’ll all get to the bottom of her case,” Park said, not at all certain that was true.
“Shouldn’t it be the handler’s job to solve the case and our job to punish the bad guys?” Mos asked, staring at Park.
“I don’t care how you do it. Work it out amongst yourselves,” Park said.
Payton shrugged. “I don’t know. I kind of like puzzle games. And this is definitely a puzzle. Besides”—he pinched Gift’s fleshy cheek—“I don’t want to be away from my baby that long.”
The muscle in Park’s jaw ticked as he contemplated the satisfying crunch each of those long fingers would make as he snapped them one by one. Gift flushed while the others gaped openmouthed at the two. Park didn’t blame them. The idea of the two of them was ridiculous. Utterly absurd. Gift’s gaze flicked to Park’s. He held eye contact as he reached below the table, and then Payton’s eyes went wide, a smirk spreading across his face.
Park bit the inside of his cheek. Beating a student half to death probably wouldn’t set a good example, but if Gift’s hand wasn’t back up on that table in ten seconds, Park was going to lose his shit. He didn’t realize he was glaring at Gift until the smile slipped from his face, his hand timidly landing back on the table.
