The 'Burg: Hold On Part 71

Death happened all the time. Accidents. Disease. Old age. Suicide.

But homicide, not so much.

The 'burg was too small to have units dedicated to specific crimes. This meant the 'burg's detectives bought cases on rotation no matter what they were.

Garrett had been on the job a while. All the men in the bullpen had been on the job a while.

But he felt it was safe to say none of them had been on the job long enough where they took a homicide in stride.

It wasn't the gruesomeness of death.

It was that his job was not the kind of job that at the end of the day, you were filled with joy. Or energy. Or anything.

Except, if you closed a case, you got a high off of your part in bringing justice.

Luckily, those highs were huge and they made the job worth it.

Homicide didn't give you that. Not ever. Not even if you caught the killer.

It was too final. There was no going back. No coping.

It was just done.

The bad guy had to be caught. He had to be punished. You busted your a.s.s more than any case you had to see to that.

But the only thing a successful takedown offered was closure to those left behind.

And that didn't mean s.h.i.t.

"Meet you at the scene," he muttered unenthusiastically.

"Text you where," Mike replied in the same tone.

"Right."

"Later."

They disconnected and Garrett's phone sounded again the second his feet hit the floor as he pulled his a.s.s out of bed.

He looked at Mike's text and texted back his ETA considering shower time, dressing, and getting to the location.

He was there before Mike even though Mike's house was closer. Then again, Garrett didn't have a woman in his bed to slow things down, even for a morning kiss.

This reminded him that day was the day Cher's time was up on making a decision.

Ryker was MIA. Even Tanner couldn't get a lock on him.

This did not make Garrett happy and it made Tanner worried.

Without Ryker to explain, none of them had any idea what Jaden Cutler had to do with Carlito Gutierrez-Ryker being their usual informant on all things Carlito-or what Robert Paxton had to do with either of them.

And Colt having a conversation with Ryan the day before didn't shed any light on the situation either. Ryan had been on the job for approximately two hours before Cher spotted him. He'd planted his bugs but hadn't heard anything since Cutler hadn't returned home.

A mystery.

And cops didn't like mysteries.

But all this going down on Cher's street, Garrett really didn't like this particular mystery.

He approached the address Mike texted and saw uniforms at the scene, crime tape already up. Marty, plus Marty's new partner (a rookie), Abe, and Adam were milling around. Ellen, Adam's partner, wasn't, which meant she was likely talking to a witness somewhere.

It was early. School and work traffic hadn't even started, so the scene was deserted except for police presence.

And the scene was right at the mouth of a cul-de-sac in a lower-middle-income development that had been so hard hit by the recession the country was just pulling itself out of, half the houses in the development were abandoned, and they looked it, or they were for sale, and that didn't look much better.

Empty was empty. There was a feel to it, and no matter what it was that was empty, it didn't feel good.

Garrett parked, got out, gave a chin lift to Adam and Abe, then moved toward Marty, who had seniority over all the uniforms, and he was closer to a blue Ford Fiesta, the lone car parked on the street. Also the scene of the crime.

"ME's on his way," Marty announced when Garrett got near. "Ellen's inside with the lady who called it in. Mike comin'?"

"Should be here soon," Garrett muttered, his eyes on the driver's side of the car. "f.u.c.k," he whispered.

It was a woman.

He hated homicide because he was a human being.

But he hated it worse when it was a woman.

This one young. Too f.u.c.king young.

Then again, they always were.

"Far's I can see, she took three. The one to the throat did it, though," Marty said.

He was right. She had a bullet hole in her thigh, one in her chest, but the one in her throat had left a stream of blood down her chest-so much blood, it had pooled in her lap.

GSWs meant blood, obviously, but not that much blood.

The shooter hit an artery.

Good news, she bled out in seconds.

Bad news, she bled out at all.

Shooter also did her from above. She was a mess, but he could see the angle of all the entry wounds. She was in the car, the shooter either standing outside it and he was tall, or he'd shot down from another vehicle.

Her seatbelt was on, but her car was wheels to the curb like she'd parked, not like she'd been done on the go.

"Shot through the window," Garrett muttered, observing the gla.s.s littering her hair and clothes.

"Yup," Marty said.

His eyes scanned the interior of the car and Garrett saw her purse on the floor, stuff that was supposed to be in it not, since it was on the floor and on the pa.s.senger seat. He also saw the key in the ignition.

That meant she hadn't had time to get the belt off. Window up, she hadn't rolled it down to chat with someone she knew in the early morning dark.

Either she was coming to this location or going, but the purse told him whichever way it was, she was doing it in a hurry. Either she threw the purse in and the s.h.i.t inside scattered or she was driving fast and erratically and the s.h.i.t inside scattered.

Garrett heard a car approach and twisted to see Mike pulling up.

He lifted a hand to Mike and turned back to Marty.

"Got an ID?"

"Yup, though haven't touched anything," Marty told him. He jerked his head to the house the Fiesta was parked in front of. "Woman in there is her sister. Says vic's name is Wendy Derian. Didn't get more from her 'cause she was freakin' out, shoutin', carryin' on. Ellen's with her, hopefully calmin' her down."

"You catch anything from her?"

Marty shook his head. "Nope. Except a lot of cursing and 'I knew its.'"

Garrett felt his spine straighten. "'I knew it?'"

"Yeah, that's why I'm hopin' Ellen's calmin' her down so she can explain what she knew."

"f.u.c.k, a woman," Mike said as he approached.

Garrett looked to him to see his partner's eyes on the car.

"Sister's inside, Mike. She called it in. Take in what you gotta take in, then we'll go talk to her," Garrett said.

Mike nodded, moved closer to the car, and Garrett gave his attention back to Marty.

"Crime scene comin'?" he asked.

"Yup."

"Neighborhood's gonna wake up. Not much population but word travels. Might be a good idea to get another cruiser out here," Garrett instructed.

Marty nodded and turned to Abe. "Yo. Get dispatch to send another cruiser."

"Gotcha," Abe replied quickly, immediately jogging to their vehicle, having been keeping his distance from the Fiesta.

Garrett eyed Abe a beat, trying to remember when he started and what had gone down since.

His first homicide.

Abe was a gung-ho guy. Not even twenty-four years old and raring to go. Couldn't wait to put his mark on beating back crime in the 'burg. Was always volunteering for everything, was there early for his shift, happy to work late. Marty thought he was hilarious, which was Marty's way of not finding him annoying.

He was not gung-ho now. With a dead woman in a Ford Fiesta, he was subdued, watchful, quiet, and helpful.

That was what homicide did to a rookie. Knocked the c.o.c.ky superhero s.h.i.t right out of you.

"When he's done callin' that in, Marty," Garrett said quietly to the veteran cop. "Might be a good idea you start him canva.s.sing. See if anyone saw anything. Heard anything."

Marty nodded.

"I'm good," Mike said. "Let's go in."

Garrett and Mike moved to round the Fiesta, both of them turning their head to watch as the ME van pulled up.

They didn't stop walking. They made it to the door of the house, Garrett knocking even as he looked around the cul-de-sac.

One house, windows boarded up. One house, lawn hadn't been mowed all summer, obviously deserted, bank notices of foreclosure still posted to the door. One house in decent shape, for sale sign out in front of it.

This house, the only one occupied.

Ellen opened the door, jerked her head to the side to indicate they should come in, but she didn't speak.

Garrett opened the storm and he and Mike went through, following Ellen into the living room.

As he went, he took in as much as he could.

The place was nice. Clean. Furnished a h.e.l.luva lot better than Garrett's condo.

Pride there.

Pride in taking care of a house that the owners were probably so upside down on, it'd take decades to get right side up.

Pride in the travels the occupants had taken to Disney World, Atlantic City, the Sears Tower, and more, these declared through the snow globes, plastic banks, and other cheap souvenirs displayed throughout the home.

Also pride in family. Framed pictures everywhere and more shoved into the edges of the frames or propped up against them. Pictures that held the image of the woman pacing the room. Some men. Other women. Relatives. Friends.

And pictures with the woman sitting dead in a pool of her own blood in a compact car at the curb.

Garrett took in the woman pacing. She was still in her pajamas. The family resemblance was unmistakable. Dark hair. Curves. Olive skin. Fine features. But definitely older, at least by a decade. Wendy Derian appeared to be in her late twenties; this woman was in her late thirties or even having hit her forties, and she took care of herself like she did her house.

She didn't stop pacing when they hit the room.

She also didn't stop muttering. "Knew it. f.u.c.kin' knew it. Knew it with that d.i.c.khead. That d.i.c.khead douchebag. That d.i.c.khead douchebag a.s.shole loser. f.u.c.kin' knew it."

She might know whatever it was she was muttering about, but she had no clue Garrett and Mike had joined her and Ellen, that was how far she was in her head.

And her anger.

Which meant the grief hadn't hit her yet.

This was unusual. It had to have been over an hour since she called it in. Grief was mighty. It typically powered through the initial anger easily...and quickly.