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I was about to reply when my pager went off, stealing my concentration.
Mother fucker. That only meant one thing.
A homicide.
Damn, but I’d really needed the outlet of riding my bike for a good hour.
I couldn’t take it with me to Florida because I was supposed to be keeping the attention off me. I’d gotten back last night, and only had a short ride from the airport to the restaurant. Then from the restaurant to my old place. All less than twenty minute rides.
My side was burning from the knife wound I’d gottenwhile checking my mail yesterday. The little fucker Pedro. He was all of sixteen years old and looked like an innocent little teenager in his Chino’s and polo shirt.
Fool me once and all that bullshit.
“Got a homicide?” Silas asked with a raised brow.
Pulling my phone out, I called the station and confirmed that it was a homicide. In fact, it was a double homicide.
“What’s the address?” I asked the dispatcher.
“5004 Oak Street,” she relayed.
“Have the techs arrived yet?” I asked as I pulled my keys out of my pocket.
I’d been back less than twenty-four hours, but I should’ve known they’d call me if a murder happened.
They had a rotational pool of detectives at Benton PD, and I hadn’t been there to answer any of the calls in well over three months. It was no surprise that I was the first on the list. Especially with the holidays.
Crime scene specialists, however, didn’t get holidays or rotational pools. They got every single murder, every single time. Rain or shine. Day or night.
“Yes, sir. They’re alreadyin route,” she affirmed.
“Okay, thank you,” I said before hanging up.
“Murder?” Silas asked with a raised brow.
I sighed. “Yeah. Have fun without me.”
I slipped out the back to avoid any questions.
Everyone would probably think I was avoiding the runs again, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.
I’d been so overwhelmed with work lately that I’d had to bail on every single one of the events they’d had planned. Birthday parties. Dinners. Baby showers. Barbeques. Fun runs. Hell, I didn’t even get to go to Sturgis this year. I’d gone every year since I turned eighteen. I wouldn’t have missed that one for the world.
Everything that I’d missed, lately, they’d contributed to me ‘changing.’
I had possibly changed, but I wouldn’t have missed that many important functions if I could’ve helped it. If anything, I would’ve attended just to avoid the questions that my lack of attendance would’ve caused.
I ignored the worried stares that followed me out of the parking lot, only pausing long enough to wave before turning right on Vine Street and heading in the direction of Oak St.
I had to clear my mind of all my problems and get my game face on. I’d nearly had them all locked inside the box I kept them in my head when I arrived, but as soon as I walked into the murder scene, every one of them popped back into the forefront of my mind again.
“Fuck.” I said desolately.
The scene in front of me was gruesome.
Two victims. Both females. One was older, but the only reason I knew that was that the victim had graying hair. The other woman had black hair. They were both naked. Both shot in the forehead with what looked to be a .38. And both had defensive wounds.
The first victim was on the couch, and the second on the floor near the front door.
