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“Fletch—”
“Probably best if you find Marina’s next of kin,” he cuts in, so easily dismissing me. “Inform them of their loss.”
“Don’t fuckin’ do that, Fletch.” I grab his arm when he starts down the stairs, and swinging him back, I meet his feral glare. “You need to stop with the ice queen bullshit and workwithme.”
“I am.” He tugs his arm from my hold and somehow still looks down at me, despite being on a lower step. “I haven’t tossed you to the captain yet. I’d say that’s about as generous as I can be right now.”
“Fletch—”
“Let me do my job,” he snarls. “You do yours. We donotneed to be in each other’s pockets to get this done.”
“We’re partners,” I bite out. “We’re a fuckin’ team.”
“Are we?” He flattens his lips and burns me with a glare. “Teams aren’t supposed to lie to each other. Teams are supposed to trust each other, right? Besides,” he pivots and continues his descent. “You’ve teamed up with Delicious, no? She skipped straight over my head and took you for her own.”
He reaches the bottom stair and stalks out the door. “Officers! Let’s get a BOLO for Victor Georgiana. I wanna know where he is, when he was last seen, and if his shop is open right now.”
He spares me a glance over his shoulder. Pitying. Angry. Then he faces forward again and marches on. “And get the media off this fuckin’ lawn!”
MINKA
We spend about ninety minutes in Marina’s home before transport is called and the body is carted back to the George Stanley medical facility.
My building. My passion, as we weed out the former terrible administration and whip the whole operation into something we can be proud of, and that the city can afford to run.
The mayor likes me, it’s true. Ever since we met, he’s been nothing but good to me. But he’s a businessman above all else, so his fatherly affection simply won’t be enough to keep us all employed if we’re crap at our jobs and cost the city too much money.
“I’m heading to the store this afternoon to get Mia’s birthday present.” Aubree works across from me in Autopsy Room One, her mask on, apron tied, hands gloved, and Marina’s blood staining the rubber as she removes each organ and tests its weight. “Things are… uh…” She documents the specs for Marina’s lungs before setting them in a steel bowl for testing later. “They’re tense, right?”
She knows I don’t chitchat while we’re working. I especially don’t gossip while the recorder is on. But this act that Archer, Fletch, and I have put on for the last few weeks has been pitiful at best. And in our attempt to keep Aubree out of the drama, all we’ve managed to do is pique her interest and hurt her feelings by locking her out.
“Usually, Fletch is super flirty, ya know?” she reasons. “But he doesn’t call you Delicious anymore. And I don’t remember the last time he hit on you. I thought it was just a mood, since Jada’s back from rehab and he’s busy dealing with her, but now, I just…”
“We’re investigating a murder, Doctor Emeri. We’re not being paid to delve into our personal relationships.”Don’t ask me about Fletch! It hurts too damn much. “Are you able to continue? Or should I finish this on my own?”
She scowls at my hardly veiled threat, and grabs a bucket while I slice Marina’s stomach and bowels free. Then she holds it in place and grunts under the weight when I place the organs inside. “All I know is that things feel off. And now this off-ness is affecting our work.”
“No it’s not. Detective Fletcher does not work here. However,wedo, and as your superior, I’m telling you to drop it.”
“I don’twantto drop it.” She places the bucket on the scales and writes her next set of notes. “We usually enjoy a friendly, professional relationship with the detectives, Chief Mayet. But now that’s gone, and I’m asking you to explain to me why.”
“And I’m telling you it’s not up for discussion.” I meet her sky-blue gaze and fake a smile. Then, after peeling off my gloves, I tug open the apron strings at my back. “Seventy-three. That’s how many stab wounds I count. The killing slice was her carotid artery, left side of her neck. Killer also nicked the brachial artery, but in my professional opinion, that was not COD. First slice hit her left hand—defensive wound. The second hit her forearm, chipped the ulna. By this point, I speculate she spun and was running. He catches her on the deltoid, left side. Trapezius, right side. Hamstring. Left side.”
“Implies she was getting away on the stairs,” Aubree grumbles, accepting she won’t get the gossip she’s searching for. “Marina was faster than him, getting up those stairs quicker. But he swings out with the knife and tags her.”
“By then, she’s already losing a lot of blood. He’s made her left hand and arm useless, and now her leg too. She’d be going down. Weak and scared.”
“But we know she pushes on, because she ends up in the bathroom and closes the door.”
“You were strong, weren’t you?” I make my way back to Marina’s head, her hair pushed back, and her eyes finally closed. Resting. “He was bigger, stronger, and meaner. But you didn’t lie down and let him hurt you.”
“This one sucks.” Aubree’s tone softens, focused on Marina once more, and not on me. “She was so young and beautiful, and someone figured they could kill her. Why?” She looks up and stops on my eyes. “Because he was angry?”
“It’s human nature.” I don’t touch, now that I’ve removed my gloves. I don’t mess with my evidence. But I study Marina’s long lashes, and the remnants of yesterday’s makeup still surrounding her eyes. Her pointed chin. Her pixie-like nose. “Sometimes, people consider themselves more important than others. Some children are never told no, and eventually, they grow into adults who are unable to regulate their emotions. Some of those become killers.”
I drag my bottom lip between my teeth. “She was a teacher with a purpose bigger than this. Whoever hurt her…” Exhaling, I shake my head. “She deserved better.”
“Probably her husband. It was a crime of passion, right?”
