Neil turned toward the alley entrance when a patrol car pulled up to the curb, lights flashing but no siren running. He immediately holstered his weapon and pulled out his badge. “Detective Neil Millett, CSU,” he said as two uniformed officers entered.
“We got a report of a 10-11—alarm in a commercial building,” one of the officers replied.
Neil pocketed his ID. “I’ve done a walk-through of the location and have found no individuals on the property. The lock on the alley door appears to have been cut, and the back door was already open when I arrived.” He took a step toward the dumpster. “We do, however, have a DOA.”
The first officer joined Neil and peered over the edge. “Christ….” He turned to his partner and instructed her to do another check of the Emporium, then got on his radio to call in Mr. Dumpster Diver.
I started to get up from the ground.
“Don’t move, Seb,” Neil instructed.
“What? Why?” I froze in place.
He looked over his shoulder at me. “You’re evidence.”
THE ALLEYwas now a crime scene.
An additional CSU detective had arrived and was inspecting the busted back door while Neil was crouched in front of me on the cement, taking photographs of my hands.
“I didn’t kill the guy.”
“I know that,” he murmured before snapping another photo.
“Then why have you pulled out your arsenal?” I nodded to the crime scene kit at Neil’s side.
He set his camera down and removed a small paper envelope from the box, as well as a pick. He gently scraped around my nails. “So the evidence backs up that you’ve just got extraordinary shitty luck.”
I looked toward the alley doors before letting out a small sigh. “I don’t think you’ll need nail scrapings to convince the homicide department of that.”
“What do you mean?” Neil asked as he folded the envelope closed.
I hadn’t looked away from the doors. “Hi, honey.”
Calvin was still dressed for his day off, his hands on his hips and a distinct frown on his face. His partner, Quinn Lancaster, stood at his side, shaking her head.
“I was on my way home,” I insisted as they approached. “Cross my heart.”
Neil stood. “Detective Winter,” he said briskly.
“Detective Millett,” Calvin answered.
“So, Sebastian isn’t the dead, unidentified male?” Quinn asked, and I couldn’t quite tell if she was kidding or not.
“He’s in there,” I answered, pointing at the dumpster. “Can I tell you what happened?”
“Please,” Calvin answered. He didn’t sound angry, per se—more like tired and relieved.
Also maybe a little angry.
“I left work,” I said. “Doors locked, gate down, the whole shebang. I bumped into Neil outside of the bank. We talked for a minute, and then the security company called to report an unauthorized entrance. Neil drove us here.”
Calvin crossed his arms, muscles bulging within the sleeves of his T-shirt. “Did the security company not notify the police?”
“They hadn’t arrived yet,” Neil replied. “We noticed the lock on the alley doors had been cut, so I went in through the back to check for an intruder. It was all clear.”
“Then would someone please tell me why Sebastian is sitting on the ground, covered in someone else’s blood?” Calvin asked.
“I was waiting in the alley,” I said, staring up at the three. “I saw the dumpster had been left open. I went to close it—boom, dead guy. There’s blood on the side. I touched it by accident.”
