“We’re legally obligated.”
Colson nodded. “I already called it in. Ambulance should be here any minute.”
Just then more sirens cut through the air and the ambulance pulled into the lot, followed by backup.
It was an instant circus.
“I’ll take her over,” Colson said. “You start on the scene.”
I hesitated—shocking myself. I didn’t want to leave her. But that was ridiculous.
I stepped back while Colson jerked her up with more force than necessary, inciting a blow of protectiveness to my system. Another first, ever.
“You have the right to remain silent…”He pulled her away from me.“If you give up the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…”
I watched him drag Sunny by his side, her head held high. Her steps strong, unwavering.
“You have the right to speak to an attorney and to have an attorney present during any questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be provided for you…”
The headlights outlined their bodies, two long, black shadows stretching eerily across the grass behind them. Sunny’s head turned, but her eyes didn’t land on mine, they focused on the body that lay at my feet. There was another flash in that green before she turned back, then disappeared in the chaos.
I looked down at the dead man at my boots.
Half of his face had been blown off, leaving nothing but open flesh and bone.
10
JAGG
Due to non-custodial interview laws, we couldn’t question Sunny until she received medical care.
While medics checked her out and Colson interviewed Erickson, Darby and I secured and processed the scene. The medical examiner arrived twenty minutes later, along with Officer Haddix—our so-called “additional resources,” a part-time patrolman dragged from bed. That’s how small-town departments worked: short-staffed, underfunded, and overextended. One person did everything, which often led to careless work. That was one reason I got called in on most local homicides.
This one just happened to land in my lap.
The body was bagged and sent to the morgue, where it would wait—autopsy scheduled for tomorrow, if we were lucky.
Not long after, the medic gave me an update. Sunny was banged up with cuts and bruises and a pair of bruised ribs. It took eight stitches and sixty minutes to close the gash on her arm.
The medic said she’d denied any pain pills.
I wondered if any of those injuries had happened when I’d tackled her. Then, I promptly forced away an emotion I didn’t feel often—guilt—and reminded myself it was part of my job. What the hell was she thinking trying to run?
Her fault.
Not mine.
Now two hours later, I was back at the station with Darby—who’d thrown up when he saw the body up close—and Colson and Sunny behind us.
I combined the last dregs of the station’s coffee with a pain pill, a combination surely to have me gripping my own bottle of antacids before bed. Assuming I even made it home, because, as my churning gut had indicated, the “Slaying in the Park”—as it had already been dubbed by the media—was becoming more unusual with each passing moment.
“I put her in interview room one.”
Mid-stride down the hall, I glanced over my shoulder at Colson coming down the hallway behind me. “Interview Room One” was the name given to the conference room when a situation called for it. Small town budgets, small town buildings.
“She needs to be interviewed immediately,” I said. “I already don’t like this thing.”
“Agreed. What did Jessica say?” Colson asked.
