A Hope City Duet - Kris Michaels Page 0,3

comment. The medical examiner had arrived on scene. He nodded at the officer. “Have the guy on the perimeter go around to the front of the building and help them drive the van back here. They’re going to need the wagon, and we don’t want to parade a DB through the lookie-loos or any press the fire might have attracted." The officer acknowledged him with a head tilt and stepped out.

He raised his small digital camera again and changed angles. He always took his own crime scene photos. He could access these photos when he couldn't sleep at night. Dragging cases files home from the office was frowned upon, plus bringing work home was just a royal pain in the ass. The crime scene techs were effective and efficient, but they didn’t look at the scene the way he did. Needing to get closer to the victim, he reached in his pocket and retrieved new protective booties. He covered the soles of his boots with the protective liner so he wouldn’t contaminate the crime scene as he approached the dead body.

Brock angled his camera and snapped pictures as he walked and then squatted down in front of the man. The victim's watch, wedding ring, and cufflinks remained untouched. He made sure to get all those items in a shot. Oh, happy day, a wallet had fallen onto the cement next to him. That he could collect as evidence. He used the ass end of his ballpoint pen to lift the wallet. Bingo. He took several photos, added a marker, and then took three additional photos. Diligent not to touch or move the body in any way, he carefully picked the wallet up from its location in the congealed blood. The vic's blood had seeped around the wallet, but the leather had shielded what was inside.

He flipped the slim wallet open and examined the contents before he snapped a string of photos. No cash, or credit cards, but a picture of a beautiful blonde woman, a driver’s license, several receipts, and laundry tickets. He cataloged and annotated each item on the evidence tag. The driver’s license was issued to... Samuel Treyson. Brock entered the name on the evidence tag and then shot a glance at his vic. Oh shit. Fuck him standing. If this guy was related to the Treysons, his case was about to explode.

He palmed his phone and did a quick search of the internet. Damn it. The face on the Forbes magazine cover was the same one that stared back at him on the driver's license. He dipped his head and took a damn good look at the victim. Yeah, this case was going to suck on an epic level.

He glanced over his shoulder at his best friend. “Get ready for one hell of a ride, Sean.”

His friend rose from whatever fire-bug stuff he was doing by the far wall. “What’s up?”

“The deceased is one Samuel Treyson.”

His friend narrowed his eyes as realization dawned and glared across the space. “If you're fucking with me, I'm going to kick your ass."

"Not even in the slightest." He flashed his phone toward Sean, displaying the magazine cover.

"You realize the can of worms that opens up, right?" Sean placed his hands on his hips. His chest expanded before he blew an exasperated huff of air. "I need to call my Captain, who really doesn't like to talk to people at two in the morning, and your dad needs a heads up. I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes. The brass and the press will be crawling up your ass as soon as this breaks. Criminal Proctology 101, my friend.”

Great. Just what he needed—a media circus. Well, hopefully they could get the body processed and to the morgue before the vultures started circling. Bringing the medical examiner's van to the rear of the building was the right call. He dropped Treyson's wallet into an evidence bag. He sealed the bag with tamper resistant tape, attached the initial bare-bones inventory sheet, interrupted Sean to initial the tag as a witness, and initialed it himself to start the chain of custody. Covering his ass started now. He'd go over the inventory of the contents again when the property officer was available to witness the accounting. Carefully stepping away from the victim to an open area, Brock palmed his cell. His Lieutenant needed a heads up before he tapped his old man on the shoulder and whispered in his ear.

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He’d bet his last paycheck that

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