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“Shit.” Serious now, Minka snatches the phone from a surprised Tim. “Put your guy away, Aubree. Put him in the fridge until tomorrow. We just got another hit. I’ll meet you in the basement parking lot of the George Stanley in a few minutes.”
“Crap!” I hear, even above the din of people inside the bar, the way Aubree sprints across tile. As the rustle of plastic grows louder. Then phones trill in the distance. “I’ll be down in a few minutes. If we hurry, maybe our killer is still on scene.”
“Unlikely.” I push up to stand and snag my burger as I move. I’m starving too, and working on an empty stomach leaves room for mistakes.
Taking Minka’s hand in mine when she kills her call, I help her to her feet and wait while she grabs what’s left of her burger. Then I wait only ten seconds as Tim dashes away with Aubree’s plate, then sprints back again with a to-go box.
“Feed her.” He shoves the box in my hand with enough force to prove to everyone he gives a shit about the woman he pretends not to want. “Archer!” he stares into my eyes. “Feed her.”
“Yeah.”
I slam down my dinner in one large bite. Two. Three. By the time I’m done, Minka pulls her coat on and fixes the zipper.
Spinning in place and heading toward Fletch, I yank his sleeve and drag him off the woman he’s entirely invested in. I feel only mildly guilty when their lips part with a gasp and all of his weight shifts off-balance. “We gotta go. We have a new body.”
“Motherfu—”
* * *
Snow drizzles down and sticks in Minka’s hair. Her eyes, her entire being, is focused on Lana Blayney, the poor woman who was only passing through City Park as she headed home for the night.
We’re mere blocks from Tim’s. From the precinct and the George Stanley. We’re so close, and yet, not once did I consider that the guy would take one down on her commute home from work.
Lana lies in the snow, broken and bleeding, with vomit and bile stuck to her skin. Blood follows the law of gravity, draining from her nose and marking tracks over her cheek. Just one cheek, because she lies on her side in the fetal position, with her knees tucked up between her arms.
Her eyes are open, unlike the two who came before her, but the rest remains the same: her looks, her age, her work in the service sector, and, when I glance, the tag on her uniform leads toward The Stitch.
Lana stares up at us all, almost pleading, as she lies dead and unsavable.
“Tentative time of death comes back at less than an hour.” Minka kneels over the body, careful not to disturb the splashes of vomit nearby. Turning just her head, she looks into my eyes while hers sparkle with grief. “Less than an hour, Archer.”
“Who called it in?” Standing right beside me, Fletch grits his jaw and holds a tight rein on his temper as he takes notes. “Do we know?”
Glancing around the dark park, I wave a uniformed cop closer when our eyes lock.
“Who called this in?” I ask as soon as he stops in front of us. “And where are they now?”
“Detectives. Delia Monroe was walking her dog before settling in for the night.” He tilts his head toward the road where a half dozen police cruisers block the street. “She’s with my partner right now.”
“Being questioned?”
“No, Detective. She gave her initial statement when we secured the scene. That’s when she said she was walking the dog and whatnot. After that, I secured her in the cruiser and put my partner outside to keep watch. I didn’t think it would be smart to question her once I knew this case probably belonged to you. I didn’t wanna muddy the waters.”
“Good work.” I bring my gaze around to Minka. “I’ll be nearby. You good?”
She only nods. Then she goes back to her work, documenting Lana’s hands while Aubree photographs the body.
“Alright. Come on.” I start across the park and wait as Fletch falls into step beside me. “You seem off tonight. You okay?”
Dropping his hands into his pockets, he only shrugs and looks ahead to the parked cruisers. “Life is busy. Everything’s always fuckin’ busy, and Jada’s spiraling the way she does. You wanna run lead on the witness?”
“Yeah, but you can jump in anytime you like. Officer.” We slow in front of the cruiser and meet the eyes of the cop keeping guard. “You have Delia Monroe in there?”
“Yes, sir. And her dog, too. She’s been pretty calm, to be honest. A little teary, but nothing crazy. She asked to call her family, but we asked her to cool her heels until you arrived.”
“Good. You were first on scene?”
“Yes, Detective. My partner and I had only just come on shift. City Park becomes a hangout at night for the junkies and idiots to loiter, so we were swinging by on a routine pass when the call came in.”
