Glancing at the clock, I have just enough time to set my stuff down at my desk before the meeting starts.Normally, our huddles happen in the conference room. But if we’re in thetraining room instead, it means one thing—all hands on deck. That space is double the size for a reason.
The door creaks open, and the low murmur of voices quiets as I step inside. There are two large TV screens on. One is displaying a map of Clore County, the other displaying an image of a parked vehicle in what looks like Juniper Bluffs. Morales follows close behind me, dropping a thin case file onto the conference table before taking a seat.
Uniformed bodies continue to filter in until it seems the room has reached its capacity.
Ryker clears his throat to get everyone’s attention before nodding at Under Sheriff Doyle to proceed.
Doyle rises and walks to the front, standing at the podium. “We got a call from a camper at 5:00 a.m.,” he begins, gesturing at the image with the vehicle. “Spotted a car abandoned near Juniper Bluffs hiking trail—doors unlocked, no sign of the owner. Looked like it had been there overnight.”
He keeps talking as the case file makes its way around the room. When it reaches me, I scan the photos—a close-up of the weathered sedan parked at an odd angle on a dirt trail, and several shots of a woman running errands, seemingly unaware she was being photographed.
“Deputy Morales,” Doyle calls out. “Can you tell us what was found in the trunk of the abandoned vehicle, since you were first on the scene?”
Morales lifts her chin, loving being the center of attention. “I was initially going to have the vehicle towed, but after doing a 360-degree walkaround, I noticed what appeared to be blood on the rear bumper and initiated a search.The trunk was unlocked. Along with the photographs in the case file, there was also a duffle bag containing duct tape, rope, and zip ties.”
Is it suspicious? Yes. Does it scream foul play? Not necessarily. People have a tendency to see what they want to see—without considering all the angles. So far, I’m intrigued. I’ll admit that much.
Keeping my thoughts to myself, I glance around the room, trying to gauge reactions. Everyone is mostly stoic, hard to read. This could all mean nothing, but a jolt of excitement hits me regardless. I’ll take anything even remotely different than our usual stack of cases.
At my last job, after years of working patrol and climbing the ranks, I had just passed my exam and completed the interview process to become an entry-level detective in the homicide unit. Little did I know, I’d be walking away from my dream job before I ever got a chance to do it.
“Sounds like someone’s prepping for a DIY project,” Deputy Cooke barks out with a laugh. A few of his buddies fist bump him. Idiots.
Morales breathes out an annoyed smile. “Except,” she continues, an edge creeping into her voice, “that doesn’t explain the photographs.”
The disruptive deputies quiet down after Doyle pins them with a look. They wouldn’t have said shit if a man had been speaking, but since Morales is a woman, the disrespect is second-nature to them. It’s one of the reasons, despite how annoying she is, I can’t fully dislike her. She already has it hard enough.
“Tell us more about the photos,” I say, as all heads snap to me.
I’ve been fairly quiet since I started, so they’re probably surprised to hear me speak, let alone speak out during a meeting.
Morales gives me a grateful smile. Using the remote, she starts flipping through the images, the ones from the case file, stopping on one of the same woman, except it’s her photograph from the DMV.
“This is Victoria Delmar. Two months ago, she wentmissing from Badger Canyon. Her family reported it within 24 hours, and they told BCPD she had a stalker.Prior to her disappearance, she made several attempts to file a report, but there was never enough evidence to proceed. It appears the reports weren’t taken seriously, possibly due to her prior involvement in sex work. She hasn’t been seen or heard from since.”
The room falls silent. It’s too soon to jump to conclusions, but I think we all know what this is starting to look like.
“Any thoughts, lateral?” Doyle asks.
Lateral.
I fucking hate that nickname. It’s super original, considering I’m a lateral transfer. My previous agency would never refer to a fellow uniform that way, but it’s a lot more of a frat-bro environment here than I was expecting. Pretty sure this is their version of hazing.
All eyes land on me, expectant—like I’m supposed to solve the case on the spot. That’s the trouble with joining this station with my background. People assume I’m some kind of big shot. And that comes with a double-edged sword—some of my coworkers admire me; the rest can’t stand me.
I’m not anyone special, but saying that out loud just makes me sound like a humble-bragging asshole. So I keep my mouth shut. Not that it’s doing me much good.
I glance at the screen, where all the photos of Victoria are now displayed for everyone to see —Victoria at the grocery store, walking to her car, sitting at an outdoor café. The images feel invasive, like glimpsing into someone else’s private life. There’s a familiarity about her I can’t wrap my head around. It makes my stomach sink. I’m sure I’ve never met her, yet if she’s from around here, maybe I have. Regardless, something about this whole thing feels…off. I can’t pinpoint it, but whatever it is, it isn’t sitting well.
I look back at Doyle. “The evidence is pointing towardthis abandoned vehicle being tied to her disappearance. I’m assuming the plates were ran.”
Ryker joins Doyle at the front. “That’s where it gets trickier. The car’s registered to a fake name, and we’ve got no ID on who actually left it there.”
“So, what’s our next move?” Morales asks to both Ryker and Doyle.
“Red Mountain PD is assisting C-Shift, as they canvass the area near the ridge,” Ryker says. “Seeing if we can turn up any witnesses. Meanwhile, the evidence is headed to forensics. We’re hoping the bag or the car itself gives us something to go on.”
Jesus Christ, the last people who should be canvassing are the deputies on C-Shift. They just worked a 12-hour shift, and now they’re expected to work OT on something this important. They’re probably all exhausted. It’s not my place, but some of the decisions this office makes are mind-boggling.
