Nick focused on breathing all the way to the ground floor, only checking his phone for the address before he plugged it into the GPS in his car. He tossed the extra clothes onto the passenger seat, making a face when an empty soda can rolled out from under the seat. He’d told Parker to take it out the night before, but of course, he hadn’t.
Nick tried to hold on to that frustration, but his mind provided the helpful anxious thought: what if the soda can was the last thing Nick had from him? What if Parker got killed for being in the wrong place at the wrong time and this empty Coke can was the last thing he touched?
It was completely irrational because the soda can had to have been from several days ago, and Parker was nothing if not tactile. There were plenty of things he’d touched since then, Nick included.
When he turned onto Harrison Street, Nick catalogued all of the details as he searched for somewhere to park. Three cruisers, both ends of the street cordoned off. The sawhorseswere manned by patrol officers, and when Nick pulled up to park along the curb, they eyed his car suspiciously.
Nick tucked his badge into his jacket pocket, and the officers waved him through the crowd of onlookers. Automatically, he catalogued the ones closest to the cordon. There was a man hanging back, tucked against one of the buildings. Nick squinted at him, but the man turned and called inside the shop—an employee, not a sightseer.
Nick stepped between the sawhorses, following the flow of officers and techs. The building was on a row of storefronts just off San Amaro Avenue. The sign said it was a smoke shop, and the accoutrements in the window indicated what sort of smoking it encouraged.
Nick stopped next to one of the beat cops standing at the door, watching the flow of traffic in and out.
“I’m looking for the lead investigator.” He gestured to his badge. “Detective King, Paranormal Crimes. Major Crimes called us because one of our consultants was at the crime scene.”
“McArdle’s inside.” The officer handed him a pair of crime scene booties and clips for his pant legs. Nick took them, slipping them on and clipping his pants tight against his leg.
Then, he headed inside. The shop was large, one side devoted to tobacco use, the other side for recreational marijuana. The marijuana side was set up almost like an ice cream counter, different varieties listed with neat, handwritten signs. Everything was well lit and white except for the red blood and viscera that coated every surface. Crime scene techs, dressed in white bodysuits, photographed and took samples. Nick squinted, trying to figure out where the body would have been. Then he realized that the thick pile of blood and flesh was all that was left of the body.
“Who are you?” one of the crime scene techs asked, glaring at him.
Nick searched his memory for the tech’s name but came up blank. He must be a new hire, even though the badge said he was the senior supervising tech.
“Detective Nicholas King. I’m here to talk to McArdle.” Nick gave his most professional smile, and the tech shook his head.
“The safe zone is behind the counters. She’s out back.” The tech gestured to a route that had been marked with small cones, leading behind the marijuana counter, through the store, and out the back door. He glared as Nick made his careful way through the crime scene, still cataloguing details.
The amount of blood indicated it had been an adult, but the splatter… Nick wasn’t sure what could have caused that.
The storeroom seemed clean of blood, and Nick followed the sounds of voices to the alleyway behind the shop.
“… and I’m telling you that he was already dead when I got here! I’m not sure how many other ways to say that! Dead as a doornail! Dearly departed! Gone to the great beyond in the form of exploding!” Parker was sitting on a stack of empty crates, and Nick’s shoulders went down immediately. Parker wasn’t handcuffed, meaning that he hadn’t been arrested yet.
The officer looming over him had her arms crossed, brown eyes narrowed. Her hair was pulled up in a professional bun, and when she spoke, it was precise.
“I’m sure that will make your client very happy,” she said. “After all, it’s hard to dig for gold when you’re in pieces on the floor.”
“Look, I’m not sure who you think I am. But I’m not Wile E. Coyote over here, carrying around TNT in my pocket.” Parker was getting worked up and gestured wide with his hands. “The one and only time I had grenades, it wasn’t even my fault, and also, we blew up all of them!”
“Parker,” Nick said. “Stop talking.”
The officer turned, her eyes immediately dropping to Nick’s badge before coming up to his face. “You’re Paranormal Crimes?”
“Nicholas King,” Nick said. “Is he under arrest?”
“Not yet,” she said. Then, grudgingly, she uncrossed her arms, reaching out with her hand. “Elaine McArdle, Major Crimes. He says he’s a PI who sometimes consults for you guys?”
“Yes. Captain Tate sent me over to see what was going on.”
“See? Idowork for the good guys.” Parker mimed putting something on his head. “White hat and everything.”
“Is he free to go?” Nick asked.
“Yeah, CSI wants his clothes and shoes.” McArdle gestured to the tent that was set up nearby. She leaned closer. “Listen, as soon as CSI clears him, I’m cutting him loose, but we’re going to want to talk to him tomorrow, and cop to cop? Get him a lawyer.”
CHAPTER TWO
The CSIs were morethorough than Nick was comfortable with, taking every piece of Parker’s clothing down to his socks and shoes. They were polite enough to provide booties and scrubs, but Nick went back to the car for the sweats because Parker was demanding to know howanyonewas expected just towalk away from a crime scenewearingwhat feels like and has the insulation of a paper towel. Nick, I’m not even wrong here. This is literally paper from a Greyhound Bus station bathroom.
