AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“They’re around. Working. There was a homicide just a couple blocks from here last night, so I sent Torres out on that job.”
“Torres is…?”
“Nick. Doctor.” She tosses her sucker back into her mouth. “Male. Married. Forty-two years old, with twelve of them spent right here under Chant’s reign. Two kids, a mortgage, and an oversized Doberman who still hasn’t learned not to pee inside the house.”
“He didn’t want my job?”
She chokes out a wheezing laugh. “Only an idiot would want your job. The hours are awful, the staff is insubordinate, the pay is mediocre, and the mini chandeliers are the best thing about your day.”
“You saidyouwanted my job!”
She makes a slurping sound as she drags the candy across her lips. “I never said I was smart. Just ambitious.”
“Point taken.” I sigh. “What else do I need to know… apart from the location of the bathroom?”
She sniggers. “Torres often works with Flynn. Flynn is a she. Cara Shenae Flynn. Thirty-two years old. Twice divorced. No kids. No Doberman. She’s solid. She works hard, she’s smart, and she likes to follow the rules. She can be a bit of a brown-nose, depending on the day of the week, but it’s not a super toxic thing. She just likes to people-please, and is smart about it. She gets here early most days and scopes out the best files that’ve come in overnight.”
“And how does she decide which are best?”
“By how interesting she finds the case to be. So our homicide from last night—knife through the throat—is a little boring for her. She passed that one up for something a little juicier.”
“Juicy, like what?”
“Like, this chick came in yesterday. The family is calling it suicide. The story is that they found her hanging from the cord in her nightrobe. The patterns of the cord are consistent with the patterns on her neck.”
“Okay…” I sit back in my chair and twine my fingers together. “But?”
“But bruising on her windpipe says otherwise. Flynn is saying she was strangled first, then hung post-mortem. Took her the better part of yesterday and last night to come to that conclusion, and even then, it was only after pulling back the skin and investigating the bruising beneath.”
“She’s thorough.” I hum my approval and nibble on my bottom lip. “Good. Her and Torres…?”
“Nothing going on there. They like to work together, but it’s completely legit.”
“Excellent. And the family of the strangling victim?”
“Is pissed!” She snickers like that thought pleases her. “They didn’t want an autopsy done at all. They’re screeching about how it’s obvious what happened, and to please just let them lay her to rest already.”
“They’re going to be ropeable when they find out Flynn’s calling it murder.”
“Ropeable?” Aubree’s eyes flare wide, and further down, her jaw quivers. “Did you just…” She explodes on a laugh. “Did you just make a death pun? Doctor Mayet! On your first day!”
I bite my grin and refuse to turn soft on this eccentric chick who claims to be an educated doctor in forensics. “What else do I need to know?”
When she continues to giggle to herself, I search my drawer and find a plastic ruler. Taking it out, I lean across my desk and poke her thigh until she hiccups to a stop and takes a hint.
Sliding off my desk, she drops into the visitor chair opposite and goes back to slurping on her sucker. “Cops are already in house on last night’s homicide; I saw them arrive just a couple minutes before you did. They’re off with Torres. Flynn is with the suicide, but she said she’d wait for you to settle in before presenting. Then when you give her the all-clear, she’ll talk to the family and the cops.”
“She wants me to sign off?”
“Brown-noser.” Aubree flashes a wide smile and crosses one leg over the other, her movements drawing my eyes to her outfit for the first time since I arrived.
Up to this point, I’ve been blinded by her hair, and after that, her loud personality. Now, I note the jeans she wears: skin-tight, but with patches sewn onto the knees that match her shimmery, black tank top. She wears a white coat over her outfit, but if she takes that off, I’d guess she was dressed for a night at a club.
“Flynn doesn’t need you to sign off,” she continues, “but I think she wants to show you how smart she is. She wants her ass-pats first, then she’ll do the rest.”
“Will she always want the ass-pats?” Frowning, I glance past her to my empty mug on the desk outside my four walls. I want more caffeine, not staff who need me to micromanage them. “I’m not the type of person who’s going to hold hands.”
“Just give her the week. Tell her she’s a good girl and how smart she is. Then she’ll go back to normal.”
