Hour of the Dragon - Heather Killough-Walden Page 0,69
long, the freshly laundered uniforms of those who’d just arrived, and a very faint perfume. He recognized the perfume; it was his partner’s.
He found it pleasant. It was a fresh scent, with notes of green tea, ginger, grapefruit and neroli. Time Enough was what it was called. It smelled clean. But unfortunately it did nothing to disguise the metallic tang of the pavement with its rainbow slime potholes, red brick mold, and lots and lots of blood.
James knew he was following in the hallmark footsteps of a thousand Hollywood stereotypes when he pulled a fresh rectangular cellophane pack from his other trench pocket and shook out a new white cylinder. He pinched the cigarette between his lips, put the pack away, and followed the ceremony up with a lighter. Because he’d already taken in what smells he could decipher, he exhaled easily and let the smoke from his first puff fill the space between him and the crime scene before him. It was his last make-shift shield, the final barrier he afforded himself before he started toward the yellow tape surrounding the building.
He knew his partner was already on the scene and inside assessing the situation. The CSO team was already there too, waiting outside the building for the okay to head in. James took his time approaching, making sure he didn’t miss any details, any possible clues he would otherwise be sorry for overlooking later.
When the department’s rookie stumbled out of the building’s front door and directly turned left to round toward the alley, James knew his intuition was right about what was waiting for him inside. His hunch was confirmed when his own partner came out a few seconds later. She was pale, despite her years of experience. But her brown eyes met his hard, and she shook her head at him just once before turning to speak with the forensics team.
James stopped in his tracks and looked up at the edifice in front of him. It was a condemned apartment building built in the seventies, during architecture’s brutalism era. According to records, it had been abandoned for two and a half years. At this stage in the game, it played temporary shelter to squatters and transients, but there was no sign of either around the building at the moment; they’d fled when they’d heard the sirens. The single homeless woman remaining was the one who’d found the body. The apparently middle-aged woman now waited nervously on the other side of the police car barrier, a rolled-up tarp bound with string next to her worn sneakers. It probably contained everything she owned in this world.
He was impressed with the woman’s tenacity; apparently she’d remained behind on the scene on the off chance that the police had any further questions. Not many people would do that these days, especially considering she most likely had drugs on her person. Not that he cared about the drugs, of course. No one on the squad really did. They each knew first-hand that life was hard enough without them, and for some more than others.
At the entrance to the alley, a second uniformed officer approached the rookie who was still bent at the waist, one arm propped against the wall to hold him up as he tried not to retch. The second officer absentmindedly pushed her braid back over her shoulder and crouched until she was level with him. She said something to him and he nodded. She placed a gentle hand on his back and James could see his breathing change, slowing down.
James pondered this exchange, shaking his head a little in wonder. They’d both been on the force the same amount of time. The female officer had been inside the building; she’d witnessed the crime scene just like the other guy. And James could see her back was a little too straight, her features drawn and pinched tight. She wasn’t unaffected. The death and the blood were as much a problem to her as they were to him. But James also knew she wouldn’t let it show if her life depended on it. That was the thing about being a woman in any work force, let alone the police. You were expected to be, not as strong as the guys, but stronger. There were no two ways about it; it was that much harder to be taken seriously as a female anything. And cops were expected to be extra tough.
My ass, James thought to himself, recalling the first time he himself