Chapter Three
Crime Scenes and Canine Companions
Nick
“I’m assigning you guys the Tyler Robertson case,” Captain Marsden says, dropping a file onto my desk.
I look up from the report I was finishing up.
Serena bounces over to my desk. “Oooh, the murder of the actor from that werewolf show?”
I flinch before I can stop myself. There won't be a time when a human casually mentioning werewolves won't kick my heart into overdrive. Half the reason they decided to create this show must be to give werewolves around the world spontaneous strokes.
The other half was to produce the most ridiculous plotlines week after week to make the idea of werewolves so absurd that humans won’t believe they’re real if one bit them in the ass. Not that I’ll let that happen on my watch.
But it’s just Serena showing excitement about murders. You know, normal stuff. Serena prefers cases with legwork, tangible evidence, and endless interrogations. Sometimes I think she chose this job because she watched too much Criminal Minds as a kid. But I would never say that to her. I like all of my limbs attached to my body, thank you very much.
Captain Marsden nods, thankfully ignoring Serena's inappropriate enthusiasm. “His body was found yesterdayafter the director of the show raised an alarm when he didn’t show up at the set for his scenes. An assistant found the body. The patrol officers questioned a few people. It’s all in there.” She points to the file.
I flip through it. A few pictures catch my eye. “The body was staged?” I ask, startled. In one of the pictures, Tyler is slumped on a chair, his hands tied, not a spec of blood on his body. It’s surprising because his face is swollen with bruises and injuries. The house is chaotic, but again, there’s no blood.
“Yes. The Medical Examiner put the time of death a few hours before the body was found, so around late afternoon. We’ll know more once the examination is finished,” Captain says.
“Personal grudge or an abduction gone wrong?” Serena thinks out loud.
I turn over a few pages. “No one was contacted for money,” I note. “But that’s a good point to start. We can look at his finances and see if there has been any movement in his account recently.”
Serena looks around the busy precinct. “Fallon?” Serena calls out to an officer walking by my desk. She snatches the file, writes something on my notepad, and hands him the slip of paper. “Give me a list of every activity in this guy’s accounts in the last few weeks," she instructs.
Officer Fallon nods, looking a little spooked. Serena does have that effect on people.
“Alright then, report back to me with whatever you have by the end of the day. This will become a media circus soon, so let’s get it solved quickly, alright?” Captain says over her shoulder and marches back to her office.
A serial killer and a high-profile murder, just another Tuesday for me. That and a partner who’s terrifyingly good at delegating desk work.
We roll up our sleeves and get to work. The next few hours are spent learning everything about the case and our victim.
I bring out one of the fancy crime boards the department recently rolled out. Time for some good ol’ murder boarding.
I pin a picture of our victim in the middle. “The neighbors didn’t hear anything, and Tyler had a habit of disappearing for days, so no one was concerned when he went missing,” I refer to the file.
Serena adds another picture to the board. “The girlfriend was shooting in Boston. Her alibi checks out,” she adds.
I snatch the picture away. “If she’s not the victim or the suspect, she doesn’t go on the murder board," I chide.
“God, you’re so touchy about this thing.Fine. Can I add the neighbors, though?” she asks with excitement I can’t say no to.
But I do, snatching the pictures away. “Not until we’ve talked to them. We don’t even have statements from half of them,” I shake my head at her. She sulks loudly. Not that it’d help, murder board rules are sacred!
“We should start with the crime scene,” Serena suggests once she’s sure her theatrics won’t work. I mean, we’ve been partners for six years now. She should know I have a pretty good bullshit-o-meter by now.
***
The smell hits me the moment I park in front of the victim’s house. Or rather smells. It’s like I’ve been hit by a wall of blended scents so offensive, I want to turn the car around and speed out of here. It’s overwhelmingly loud, rattling my senses. Sharp spices, rotting corpses, not one, many, sugary sweet decaying lilies, decomposing garbage, and so many more, I can’t even pull them apart.
My eyes water. My throat starts to clog.
Serena looks at me, concerned. “Hey, you okay?”
