Book 3, Chapter 1
The flash of police lights caught my attention as we exited the diner. I heard Ghost sigh a little as I made my way down the street toward them, but she followed along without saying anything. The police cars were parked by a housing building, cops gathered outside the main door with the bored attentiveness that said they were waiting for the crime scene unit to show up. I gently pushed my way through the small crowd of curious onlookers that had gathered.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Got a call. Can’t say more than that,” the cop nearest me replied.
I frowned, knowing better than to argue. The best way to keep details of any police matters from the press was to say as little as possible for as long as possible. I stuck around in the hopes of gleaning a little more, my curiosity piqued. Ghost sighed again.
“You don’t have to stay.”
“Neither do you,” she countered with a small grin, “and I’d rather stick around than walk home alone.”
“You could drive,” I suggested, but she shook her head.
“It’s shiny, Doc.”
I gave it no more thought, though I appreciated her staying. I honestly don’t know why I stayed. I hadn’t actively sought out crime scenes since losing Sherlock. For some reason, after a night of distraction and relaxation, my first good night in over a year, I found myself walking directly toward police lights, as if I were simply following him again.
It was this feeling that made me blink in surprise when Red walked out of the building. She was surprised to see me too, understandably. We hadn’t spoken much in the past year, our jobs no longer in line with each other.
She gestured that the policemen on guard should let me in. I cast an apologetic look at Ghost, who shrugged as if to say it didn’t matter. She was still grinning. I smiled in thanks and quickly followed Red back inside the building and up the stairs.
“How’ve you been?” Red asked.
“Keeping busy. You?”
“The same. Thought you might care to take a look, seeing as how you’re here anyway. It’s something in his line.” It was obvious who she was talking about.
“Is it murder, then?”
She nodded. “Name’s Adrian Rolands. Neighbors describe him as quiet, kept to himself a lot, but always polite. No criminal record whatsoever, not even a parking fine.”
We stopped at a room on the third story. Red opened the door to reveal the sparsely furnished sitting room of a small apartment, containing a couch in front of a tv and a table behind that. Across the table sprawled the form of a dead man, a bullet through his head. He had been shot from behind as he sat at the table, falling forward. Underneath him was his computer. He’d been dead for a few days.
“So he was working on something when he was shot from behind,” I said. “Either he was forced to do something on the computer, or he knew his murderer and simply had his back to them.”
Red filled in the blanks, “No one in the building reported seeing or hearing anything suspicious. The only reason we were called in tonight's because the landlord wanted to collect an overdue rent and noticed the smell as he pounded on the door. The door would have automatically locked when the killer left.”
“Isn’t there a security camera in the building?”
“Yep, but that’s what makes things a little more complicated.”
She pointed to the window. In it was a bullet hole. I stared at Red. “You aren’t seriously suggesting he was shot through the window? The shooter would have had to be firing from the building across the street!”
“That building’s recently abandoned, so it’s possible. There’s glass bits on the floor by the window, so something came through. The lab boys are going to see if the angle matches. You’re welcome to stick around if you want.”
I hesitated. “As much as I’d like to, I can’t. Will you keep me informed?”
“Absolutely.”
I hurried back down the stairs, found Ghost, and led her away from the crowd. “You can’t drive, can you?”
She responded by sticking her tongue out at me.
I grinned. “Sorry. I should have realized the only reason why you were sticking around is that you didn’t want to walk home, alone or not.”
“You aren’t quite as quick as your friend, but you catch on.”
“Thanks,” I drawled sarcastically as I found a public car.
“I would have stayed anyway. Even if I could drive, I mean.”
“Really?”
She nodded. “Your first time back at a crime scene. Wanted to make sure you were ok.”
I considered her for a long moment before starting the car. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“Worrying.”
She shrugged. “Just returning the favor.”
I started driving. “He would have found that interesting. The crime scene, I mean.” I described it to her and the two of us spent the ride home speculating wildly about possible scenarios. Sherlock would have been disappointed and amused by our lack of objectivity as the ideas became more cinematic and less logical, but it was fun.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Got a call. Can’t say more than that,” the cop nearest me replied.
I frowned, knowing better than to argue. The best way to keep details of any police matters from the press was to say as little as possible for as long as possible. I stuck around in the hopes of gleaning a little more, my curiosity piqued. Ghost sighed again.
“You don’t have to stay.”
“Neither do you,” she countered with a small grin, “and I’d rather stick around than walk home alone.”
“You could drive,” I suggested, but she shook her head.
“It’s shiny, Doc.”
I gave it no more thought, though I appreciated her staying. I honestly don’t know why I stayed. I hadn’t actively sought out crime scenes since losing Sherlock. For some reason, after a night of distraction and relaxation, my first good night in over a year, I found myself walking directly toward police lights, as if I were simply following him again.
It was this feeling that made me blink in surprise when Red walked out of the building. She was surprised to see me too, understandably. We hadn’t spoken much in the past year, our jobs no longer in line with each other.
She gestured that the policemen on guard should let me in. I cast an apologetic look at Ghost, who shrugged as if to say it didn’t matter. She was still grinning. I smiled in thanks and quickly followed Red back inside the building and up the stairs.
“How’ve you been?” Red asked.
“Keeping busy. You?”
“The same. Thought you might care to take a look, seeing as how you’re here anyway. It’s something in his line.” It was obvious who she was talking about.
“Is it murder, then?”
She nodded. “Name’s Adrian Rolands. Neighbors describe him as quiet, kept to himself a lot, but always polite. No criminal record whatsoever, not even a parking fine.”
We stopped at a room on the third story. Red opened the door to reveal the sparsely furnished sitting room of a small apartment, containing a couch in front of a tv and a table behind that. Across the table sprawled the form of a dead man, a bullet through his head. He had been shot from behind as he sat at the table, falling forward. Underneath him was his computer. He’d been dead for a few days.
“So he was working on something when he was shot from behind,” I said. “Either he was forced to do something on the computer, or he knew his murderer and simply had his back to them.”
Red filled in the blanks, “No one in the building reported seeing or hearing anything suspicious. The only reason we were called in tonight's because the landlord wanted to collect an overdue rent and noticed the smell as he pounded on the door. The door would have automatically locked when the killer left.”
“Isn’t there a security camera in the building?”
“Yep, but that’s what makes things a little more complicated.”
She pointed to the window. In it was a bullet hole. I stared at Red. “You aren’t seriously suggesting he was shot through the window? The shooter would have had to be firing from the building across the street!”
“That building’s recently abandoned, so it’s possible. There’s glass bits on the floor by the window, so something came through. The lab boys are going to see if the angle matches. You’re welcome to stick around if you want.”
I hesitated. “As much as I’d like to, I can’t. Will you keep me informed?”
“Absolutely.”
I hurried back down the stairs, found Ghost, and led her away from the crowd. “You can’t drive, can you?”
She responded by sticking her tongue out at me.
I grinned. “Sorry. I should have realized the only reason why you were sticking around is that you didn’t want to walk home, alone or not.”
“You aren’t quite as quick as your friend, but you catch on.”
“Thanks,” I drawled sarcastically as I found a public car.
“I would have stayed anyway. Even if I could drive, I mean.”
“Really?”
She nodded. “Your first time back at a crime scene. Wanted to make sure you were ok.”
I considered her for a long moment before starting the car. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“Worrying.”
She shrugged. “Just returning the favor.”
I started driving. “He would have found that interesting. The crime scene, I mean.” I described it to her and the two of us spent the ride home speculating wildly about possible scenarios. Sherlock would have been disappointed and amused by our lack of objectivity as the ideas became more cinematic and less logical, but it was fun.
