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“You brought me in on this. You take what you get.”
She sighed into her bag, not finding a single thing to protect the doorknob from her fingerprints if she was to try it. Should she risk it or should she come back again when she had the proper tools?
Another choice came in the form of a voice roaring from down the narrow alley.
“What the hell you think you’re doin’?!”
Anastaciaknewadetectivewhen she saw one.
She was never eager about interactions with the police, despite wanting to be an officer herself once upon a time. The dream began to unravel when she joined officers on ride-alongs with other cadets. Murder scenes were the worst. Spirits of the victims found her and told her all the details she would need to solve the case, sometimes including who the killer was, but warrants and courts needed hard evidence. It didn’t stop the spirits from following her home, from invading her life until exhaustion clouded her better judgment and she cracked.
Most of the time the training officer she confided in ignored her but there was the one detective who thought she knew too much and put her on the suspect list. If that jerk linked her to the victim at all, Anastacia would be locked up right now. Instead, she ended up in the department shrink’s office for a psych eval.
All because she was too naïve to keep her mouth shut. She wasn’t sure who she was more furious with, the spirits, the detective, or herself, but if she could fit her fist in that detective’s face, maybe she could find out.
Or if not that detective, maybe this one would give her a chance.
Any detective would do really.
Calm. She reminded herself, inhaling deeply and wishing she didn’t. The odor of heat-baked urine mixed with the raw stench of Mel’s dried blood brought bile to the back of her throat. Her fists clenched as she forced it back down, pushing her anger down with it.
Mel had placed himself between the approaching man and Anastacia, though it would not have done any good should the man be aggressive since Mel couldn’t interact with the physical world yet. She was on her own.
The man stopped just feet from her, his hand on his hip, and the other one held his cell phone. Anastacia recognized the sleeves of his sweat-stained, blue button-down shirt rolled along tense forearms from earlier in the day. The lead detective who had interviewed the girlfriend. His steps were slow and calculated, the badge on his hip caught enough light to occasionally gleam, leaving no doubt in her mind she was right.
“Gonna ask you again. What're you doing here?”
She recognized the dialect in his voice as one of a local. More of the uptown twist to his words instead of the trilled Cajun flavor.
“Curiosity mostly. I’m sorry, detective. The tape was lowered. I assumed the forensics team had finished.”
A flash of recognition crossed his features. He remembered her from earlier.
“You’re not one of those hobbyist detectives, are you?” He asked, annoyed about her intentions.
“I wouldn’t say I'm a hobbyist. I don’t routinely pick up on murder investigations.” She smiled in what she hoped was a professional and friendly manner, “Mel’s a— well, he was an acquaintance. We saw each other yesterday, and I didn’t hear from him today when we agreed to meet for a quick cup, so I was concerned. If you know anything about him,” she spared a quick glance toward Mel, “you’d know he doesn’t ghost people like that. I called Jay, and he told me what happened. I came to take a look. Morbid fascination, but hopeful to help in any way I can.”
“Oh, you’re good,” Mel gasped from her side, amazement lacing his voice. This was his introduction to her talent at twisting the truth with just enough fiction to make it believable. It’s not like she’s had much of a choice without giving away her gift. “The pun was lost on him but know that I appreciated the effort.”
“Mr. Sable didn’t mention anyone when we asked him about other people in contact with him.”
“Jay doesn’t know me well. He probably would remember me more as the girl his friend was flirting with at a café.”
“I wasn’t flirting. You would know if I was flirting.” Mel smirked from over the detective’s shoulder and winked at her.
“Well, we don’t need any help from amateurs with good intentions.” The man’s lips gave her a knowing twist as he walked back to his car, his phone at his cheek, “Yeah, Deb, it’s just another tourist. I’m heading back.”
Anastacia’s aggravation boiled in her veins.
She raised her voice so he could hear her over any feedback from the phone at his ear. “You think Mel caught the shooter off guard out here in the alley and Mel was shot by coincidence, but the blood on the inside of the door frame says different. Your killer was inside the building, detective.”
He stopped and pivoted to face her. She lifted her brows in a challenge, her professional smile now replaced with a slight smirk. He narrowed his eyes at her and then stalked back to where she nodded her head to the door and the blood on the inner frame. Three distinct pinpricks of blood had splattered onto the frame. Velocity spray caught from what she believed to be the first shot.
“I’ll be damned,” he muttered and pulled the phone back up to his face. “Deb, I take it back. I need the lab boys to come out again. Our scene may be bigger than we thought.”
There was a quick buzz and response from the other line and he stood, studying Anastacia, who hadn’t moved since he tried to dismiss her.
“Just another tourist?” she asked.
