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“A girl.”
“Oh damn. You’re going to be a girl dad.”
“I know, and I’m terrified. She’ll rule the roost.”
Cruz laughed. “I can’t wait to meet her. Congratulations.”
“Thanks. It’s going to happen for you guys, too. I feel that in my bones.”
“I do, too. As Sam said, it’s good news that Elin can conceive, and we’re trying to make peace with the one we lost being not meant to be.”
“It’s heartbreaking, though.”
“Yes, it is.”
Gonzo brought his car to a stop outside the dormitory, which had been blocked off by the Patrol officers who’d answered the call for help. “Here we go again.”
Business was always brisk for murder cops in a major city.
“What’ve we got?” Gonzo asked the first Patrol officer they encountered as Detectives Charles and O’Brien arrived on the scene in O’Brien’s vehicle.
Officer Youncy, a young Black female officer Gonzo had met before, greeted them. “Hey, Sarge, so the body was found on the third floor, room 322. A twenty-year-old junior named Rachel Fortier. Her roommate became concerned when Rachel didn’t get up for her eight o’clock class. Apparently, she never misses class, which is something her friends teased her about.”
“Do we know where she’s from?”
“St. Louis.”
Gonzo ached for the parents in St. Louis, who’d soon be receiving the worst call any parent could ever get.
“Sergeant Gonzales and Detective Cruz,” Youncy said, “this is Officer Sandoval from GW Campus Police and Grant Kingston, the residence hall coordinator.”
“Take us up.” Gonzo nodded to the two men, who’d probably do more to complicate the investigation than help it. To Charles and O’Brien, he added, “Start with the security footage and the canvass.”
“Uh, about the footage,” Kingston said haltingly. “Our monitoring system went down on Friday. We’re still waiting for the repair people.”
Nothing is ever easy, Gonzo thought with growing frustration. He was still processing the news that he’d be leading the new investigation into Stahl possibly being a serial killer and now this, too. “Do the canvass,” he said to Charles. “Find out who was working the front desk last night and get us a list of who was in and out of here.”
“You got it, Sarge,” Charles said.
Gonzo liked working with her. She was sharp and understood the mission. The jury was still out on O’Brien. He had potential, but he reminded Gonzo of his late partner, Detective AJ Arnold, in that he was a bit clueless at times. That fleeting thought of Arnold, who’d been shot dead right in front of Gonzo, sent a shaft of pain lancing through him. God, he missed that big doofus and would mourn his tragic loss for the rest of his life.
As they followed Youncy up two flights to the third floor, Gonzo tried to shake off the feelings of despair that came over him any time he thought of Arnold, which was often.
Room 322 had been taped off to keep everyone out, and Gonzo recognized Youncy’s partner, Officer Clare, a young white officer who still had acne, positioned outside the door. Clare lifted the yellow tape for Gonzo and Cruz.
They stepped inside a room divided in half—one side featured pink and purple, the other was black. Someone had taped a yellow traffic line straight down the middle of the room, which Gonzo found odd. Did that mean the roommates hadn’t gotten along?
The victim, who had blonde hair, was still in her bed, and at first glance, he might’ve thought she was asleep until he noted the bluish tinge to her lips and skin.
“Have you called the ME?” Gonzo asked.
“She’s on her way,” Youncy said. “Crime Scene is delayed with most of their team now deployed to Stahl’s house.”
The Patrol officers had done the right thing calling them, Gonzo thought, if for no other reason than to rule out murder. Whenever someone died under suspicious circumstances, they got the call. Once in a while, they later determined the person had died by natural causes.
“There’s no way someone got in here and murdered her, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Kingston said. “We pride ourselves on world-class security.”
“But your cameras are down,” Gonzo said. “Interesting.”
