December 8th
There was pounding against my door as I rolled over and out of bed. I pulled on some sweats and answered the door to see Simmons.
“What?”
“Get your ass moving, we have a crime scene.”
“Really?” I ran through my hair as I yawned, checking my watch. “At 3am?”
“Yes so get your ass moving.” She thrust a cup of coffee into my hand.
“I’ll get dressed, just — fuck I need like five minutes.”
I turned, and the screen door slammed shut. This was one part of the job that I did not miss. I pulled on some jeans and grabbed my badge off the counter, threw on a vest, and met Simmons in the squad car.
“Where too boss?” I half-saluted as I nursed the coffee.
“That new hotel, someone reported a crime and well you’ll see.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“God damn,”I muttered as the coroner carried a guy’s body out of the room. I peeked under the sheet, noticing the dude looked like he'd been punched by a rhino and lost. Crime scene investigators dusted and fingerprinted everything in the hotel room.
If it hadn’t been a crime scene, I might have found the room to be a little romantic. There was blood everywhere; a coffee table smashed and overturned. The couch looked like it had face fucked a porcupine, and the bedroom looked even worse.
“What the hell happened here?” I asked, trying to get my wits about me as I turned and analyzed the scene.
“The 911 call came in about an hour ago, some woman said it was self defense, here I’ve got a recording.” One of the techs said to pull up the laptop.
“911 what’s your emergency?”
“I’d like to report a crime.”
“What’s the nature of the crime?”
“I killed him… he attacked me and I killed him.”
“Ma’am?”
“The line goes dead after that,” he finished.
I swallowed back the lump in my throat. That was Summer’s voice alright.
“The blood? Is it all the vic’s?” Simmons asked.
“Most of it, we had several samples sent to the lab for processing, but from the looks of the body most of it came from the victim.”
“Anything unusual in the room?” I looked around the room, seeing the many investigators taking photos and collecting evidence.
“Actually yeah, over here.” The man said as we stepped over markers towards the main room again, “Jerry you haven’t bagged it yet right?” He tapped a short man with glasses on the shoulder.
“No, all yours.”
There, sitting on a cotton towel splattered in blood, was a handwritten note.
I will find her.
It was a promise. The note wasn’t a threat, no. It was a warning. Summer would rain hell down on whoever had her child, regardless of who stood in her way.
