"Besides everything you missed while counting drops? She claims Donnelly was minding his own business when O'Hara attacked him unprovoked. Claims O'Hara was jealous because she used to date him."
A nod toward the screen. I ignored the jab. "That contradicts the video. Donnelly clearly initiated physical contact."
"Thank you, Detective Obvious. I have eyes." He leaned closer to the screen, intentionally crowding my space. "See how he's leaning forward, center of gravity shifted? That's not defensive posturing. That's an aggressor."
I blinked. Surprised by the accuracy of his read. It was precisely what I'd observed. Which somehow made it more annoying coming from him.
"And look at O'Hara's hands. They're open, not fisted. He wasn't preparing to fight until Donnelly cornered him."
The footage continued. Donnelly pushed O'Hara again. O'Hara stumbled backward. Then reached for something. The knife, presumably, though the angle made it impossible to see clearly. The men moved back inside the patio. Out of the camera's view.
"She's protecting Donnelly. Trying to paint O'Hara as the bad guy when her boyfriend likely started it."
"People lie to protect those they care about."
"Or themselves. He mentioned they were all drinking together earlier. I think he might have been the catalyst for the fight."
Again, his insight matched mine. A slight reassessment was unavoidable.
Maybe there's something to him after all.
The thought was as uncomfortable as it was unexpected.
He caught me studying him and raised an eyebrow. "What? Surprised I can do more than look good, Detective?"
Before I could respond, an officer called from the alley beside the restaurant. "Detective Hawley! We found something."
I moved quickly to the narrow passage between buildings. Pointedly didn't check if Carlson was behind me. The officer pointed to a broken soju bottle, the jagged edge dark with what appeared to be faint crimson drops. He was holding his umbrella over it.
"Not a knife. A broken bottle."
"Amazing deduction." The comment came from behind me. "Next you'll tell us water is wet."
A glacial stare over my shoulder was my only response. "Bag it, Constable. And check the dumpsters for any discarded clothing. If the suspect cut himself in the process, there might be trace remains on his clothes."
I addressed the officers gathering around me. "Doyle. Coordinate with the hospital for updates on the victim's condition. We need to bring in the girlfriend again. Her account needs revision in light of the video. And dispatch two officers and check the suspect's known address."
They dispersed immediately, moving with purpose. When I turned around, Carlson was studying me with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"We make a decent team when you're not freezing me out." A hint of real surprise colored his tone.
"And you'd be useful if standard protocols weren't just suggestions to you." The heat had faded from my delivery.
His eyes widened slightly. At what might have been the closest thing to a compliment I'd given him. "Careful, Detective. People might mistake that for civility."
I moved past him to keep processing the area. Felt his attention on my back. Observant. Thoughtful. Unsettling, the feeling that he was studying me. Analyzing my methods the way I analyzed crime scenes.
Being a puzzle for someone else to solve didn't appeal to me. Especially not someone like him, who read people as easily as I read spatter.
The rain kept falling, washing traces from the alley. I worked faster. More methodical. Concentrated on what could be salvaged. On what could be controlled.
Unlike my new partner, who remained the most unpredictable element in the rain, the noise, the wet neon, and the slow inventory of everything I couldn't yet name.
Chapter 5: The Witness Who Wasn't
Luke
The back room of Hangang BBQ wasn't meant for interviews. No restaurants or bars were, in fact. A storage closet, hastily cleared. It smelled of fermented kimchi and cleaning products. The girlfriend, Lauren Bennett according to her ID, sat perched on a plastic crate. Fingers fidgeting in her lap. The overhead light cast harsh shadows across her face. Smudged eyeliner. Tear tracks.
