Lamonte was already inside the apartment when I ducked under the yellow tape, gloves snapped on, eyes scanning.We’d been working together long enough that we didn’t need to talk much at the beginning.You read the room.You read each other.
Late thirties male.Single gunshot wound to the chest.No sign of forced entry.
Domestic-adjacent, possibly, but not textbook.Definitely someone he knew.There was no disarray like he even attempted to fight back.He was comfortable in the space and with the person who did this.
“Wife’s downstairs,” Lamonte shared quietly as I crouched near the body.“Claims she was out walking the dog.”
I glanced up.“Dog real?”I had to ask because once, only once, but once was enough to stick with me, there was someone with an imaginary dog.And as crazy as it sounded even then, thinking back it still left a knot in my stomach because that person had a whole set up for a dog.Bowls, leashes, even damn booties and a winter coat.There was no dog.And someone lost their life questioning the man about the invisible pet.
“Unfortunately.”
I sighed.“Always is.”Because the imaginary one was an easy open and shut case.The district attorney took that straight to trial, and the defense sited psychiatric problems.Second degree murder was the charge, man slaughter was the official plea agreement charge and time in a facility for mental health kept that man from getting back on the street without staying on his meds.
We worked the scene methodically.Photographs.Measurements.A slow reconstruction of someone’s worst night.I asked the right questions, took the notes I’d need later, compartmentalized like I always did.
Three months ago, this would’ve followed me home.Lately, it didn’t.
That was new.Then again, home had a whole new appeal.Work wasn’t all I had anymore.
Lamonte caught me watching the hallway a second longer than necessary.“You’re distracted.”
“I’m efficient,” I stated.
He snorted.“You’re thinking about Char.”
I didn’t bother denying it.“Things are good,” I replied instead, straightening.“Really good.”
And that, too, was new.Char and I had settled into something that felt real.Not rushed.Not dramatic.Just steady.Dinners that turned into nights.Nights that turned into mornings.A toothbrush at my sink.Her shoes by the door.
I had given her a key two weeks ago.I had thought about it for days before I did it.Turned it over in my head like a piece of evidence I didn’t quite trust yet.But when I handed it to her—when her eyes had gone soft and surprised and a little emotional—I knew I had made the right call.It had been years since I my personal space was open like this for someone else to share.
My mind was thinking more than simply having a key to my place.Her lease was up in two months.I already started planning how to ask her to move in.
Lamonte clapped me on the shoulder as we stepped back outside.“You coming over Friday?”
“Char says I don’t have a choice.Nita isn’t to be denied according to my girl.”
He grinned.“Smart woman.”
“She’s trouble,” I shared with ease.
“She is,” he agreed.“The good kind.”
We finished our preliminary scene notes and headed out.I checked my phone on the way to the car.No missed calls.No texts.Char knew I would be late.Still though, she usually checked in.Maybe she wasn’t feeling well.Sometimes her period left her tired and she would sleep after work or classes.
That night, traffic crawled and my patience wore thin.I replayed the scene in my head, already outlining next steps, when my phone buzzed.
Char:I’m at your place.Hope that’s okay.
I smiled despite the exhaustion settling into my bones.
Always,I typed back thinking to myself that’s what I gave you the key for.
The lights were on when I pulled into the lot.Her car sat in my usual spot, crooked like she’d been in a hurry.I clocked it automatically.Filed it away.
Inside, the apartment felt off.Not wrong.Just quiet in a way it usually wasn’t when she was there.
She was sitting on the couch, hands folded in her lap.Not curled up.Not relaxed.She stood when she saw me, too quickly, like she’d been waiting for a cue.
