Hank Adler was dead. Murdered. One fatal bullet to the chest.
Forensic photographer Sasha Kane stood over the man’s body and aimed her camera lens at his face—ash-colored skin, dark hair slicked back from bushy brows and disturbing eyes still open with the same vacant stare she witnessed in every murder victim’s photo, but this was different. Hank was her friend, and his death was personal. The familiar burn of grief tightened her chest and blurred her vision, but she fought back her emotions, determined not to contaminate the crime scene.
She worked quickly, before the sun faded outside the large floor-to-ceiling windows and robbed her of its natural warmth and glow. Eerie shadows stretched across the waiting room decorated with leather couches, fine art and Turkish rugs that cushioned the hardwood floors. Only the finest for Hank.
Sasha lowered her camera’s f-stop to capture more light, then moved through her mental checklist to make sure she didn’t miss any details that might help find his killer.
She stepped back to the office door. To the left, shattered glass from a broken lamp and two framed diplomas littered the floor next to his body. Blood spatter covered the manila folders stacked on his desk and dotted the wall at chest height. A bullet, piercing the plaster, left a round dark hole in the middle of the red pattern. Crime scene investigators would dig out the evidence and log it in their database. She prayed something here would be a match to whoever committed this heinous crime.
Sasha moved closer to Hank’s desk. Among the folders was one with her name on the tab, lying open for all who entered to see. Red droplets spattered the pages and blotted out most of the information. Hopefully enough to keep her secret. More hot tears rushed to her eyes, and she swiped them away. This was not the time to break down. She had to be strong and finish her job.
Something thumped against the wall. Sasha spun toward the noise.
No one was there.
A beep from a car echoed outside, and headlights flashed through the window. She separated the blinds and peeked out. Mr. Bell, the store manager from downstairs, locked his coffee shop door and drove off, oblivious to the crime above him. Sasha noted the time, his tag number and the make of his car to add to the report for the investigators. Everything had to be recorded, no matter how insignificant a detail might seem. The timeline was most important in a murder case, although she doubted Mr. Bell, who’d always been nice to her by providing free coffees in exchange for comped marketing photos, had anything to do with the harm that Hank endured. Only an evil person filled with hatred could carry out such a violent act, and Mr. Bell wasn’t that kind of man.
She raised her camera again and snapped a few more shots. Hank’s office wasn’t large, but the prime location, at the corner of Main Street and Fourth Avenue, had its perks. Since he was positioned above the Bean Stalk, the entire space smelled of espresso and frothed milk. One of the reasons Hank had bought the building.
All kinds of professional types frequented the shop during the day, but at this time of night Mr. Bell went home to his family and closed up by 7:00 p.m. Some of the neighboring restaurants and bars kept their door open to let in the cooler, evening air. Even summers in the mountains had their hot temperatures and she hoped a witness might’ve heard or seen something that would help identify Hank’s killer.
If only she’d come to their meeting sooner, Hank might still be alive, helping her navigate all the legal documents he’d put together for her.
She pressed her shutter button again—click.
Or two bodies would’ve ended up in bags tonight and her son would be without a mother.
She shuddered at the thought and hoped the crime scene investigators would get here soon. When she’d radioed dispatch earlier, they’d told her units were on their way, but no sirens cut through the quiet town. Not yet anyway.
Another thump sounded to her right. She straightened and turned toward the door. Sasha moved around her friend’s body, looked out into the lobby and scanned the space.
“Hello?”
No one answered.
The old building creaked a little but having been built in the 1930s with the basement acting as the town’s only bomb shelter during World War II, she figured that was normal. Maybe she was imagining things, or someone had thumped the wall in the office next door. The room turned quiet again as Sasha settled back into a rhythm of clicks, taking more photos.
She stepped in front of a small closet bordered by built-in bookcases and crouched for a close-up of Hank’s hands. A number was written on his left palm. Six digits. Too short to be a phone number. Maybe a combination to a locker or something. She snapped a picture.
The floor creaked, and she stood again, chills radiating up her arms. Sasha wasn’t imagining things. The noises were coming from inside the office. She wasn’t alone.
Metal scraped behind her. With her camera lowered, resting against her abdomen, she turned.
The closet door stood open and a shadow moved inside.
Sasha bolted for the door. From her peripheral vision, a man lunged from the darkness, shoving her into the wall. She turned, his breath hot in her face. With a quick defense move, she slammed her elbow into his jaw, but he didn’t flinch.
Instead, his muscular arm landed across her chest and pressed into her throat. She fought to breathe, then stilled, hoping he’d loosen the pressure. By pretending to be cooperative, she might gain another chance to break free.
She raised her gaze to his. Excitement flashed in his black eyes.
“Give me the camera.” His voice was low, deep with a slight lisp when he spoke.
“If you want my photos, you have to loosen your grip so I can get the strap from around my neck.”
He hesitated then straightened, removing his crushing weight from her small frame. Sasha dipped her head and grasped the long telephoto lens. This was the only opportunity she might have to escape.
With a quick movement, she swung the device as hard as possible, striking his temple and knocking him back. Blood trickled from the gash, and he swiped the cut with his finger, then grabbed for the telephoto lens, pulling her along with the device.
Sasha leaned back, the strap still secured around her neck, and tightened her grip. With the lens aimed upward, she snapped a flash photo of his face. The bright light triggered dots in her vision, but instead of recoiling, the man gripped the strap tighter and twisted it around her throat. His dark eyes flared and his sharp jaw tightened, exaggerating the small scar on his left cheek. A gang tattoo flexed on his right forearm.
She scratched at the fabric with her fingers, unable to create any space underneath. Her lungs burned, and white dots along the edges of her vision turned to black. If she didn’t fight, the investigators would find her dead body right beside Hank’s.
Sasha punched her boot heel into the man’s knee. He stumbled, releasing his grip, and she was able to break free, gasping for air. Sirens echoed closer, and her attacker reversed course, making a run for the window.
Adrenaline pumped through every muscle in her body. She was a fighter and wanted this guy to pay for her friend’s death. Sasha shot up, rounded desks and jumped over potted plants, determined to snap as many photos as possible. Mostly of his back, but every bit of evidence helped.
Metal clanged when he landed on the fire escape outside and disappeared from her view. She rushed to the second-story window, aiming her lens in his direction. He jumped to the ground, then, with one glance back up, made a mistake. Sasha caught the fullness of his face and clicked. Dark eyes narrowed in her direction, and his black goatee outlined the sneer on his face.
He jerked down the bill of his ratty ball cap. “You’ll regret that.”
He ran toward the parking garage at the bottom of the hill, his black biker boots echoing off the concrete when he disappeared inside.
More footsteps thumped into the room behind her. “Shadow Creek Police.”
She turned to the door with her hands raised. “He went—”
Officers filled the room, but Sasha’s gaze fell to one man.
Detective Judah Walker stood before her with his gun aimed at her chest. His tall frame hovered over the waiting room chairs, and his wavy dark hair accentuated blue eyes, piercing her heart right back into the memories of the night they’d spent together. A night that had changed her life forever. He didn’t know her secret. Not yet, anyway, and now wasn’t really the time to bring up their past, but she had to tell him he was her son’s father. If she didn’t, he’d see the custody agreement Hank put together for her. She’d kept her pregnancy and the birth of her baby hidden from him for three years. Not because he was a bad man, but they’d broken up and she’d moved away. The plan had been to tell him tonight with Hank as her mediator, but now her friend’s death had changed everything. How could she ever find the courage to spill the news without Hank there to soften the blow?
Life was different now. The birth of her son had changed her. In the midst of all the uncertainty, she had surrendered her life to Jesus. She wasn’t sure Judah would understand. He’d never been one to go to church or talk about spiritual issues when they dated but then again neither had she. Now, she couldn’t imagine living her life without God. He’d given her the most precious gift in her sweet son, and no matter what the future held with Judah—if anything at all—he still had a right to know he was a father. Just not tonight.
Heat rushed to her cheeks as he crossed the hardwood floors towards her. Every memory and every heartache rushed to the forefront of her mind.
The awkward silence thickened between them, and she began rethinking every decision she’d made. Maybe moving home hadn’t been the best idea. In Raleigh, she’d had a decent job and lived in a good neighborhood, but her family was here in the small mountain town of Shadow Creek, North Carolina, and she’d wanted to be near them.
With Judah standing in front of her, their past sins seemed too great. The last thing she wanted to do was face the consequences of their impetuous decisions, which now seemed insurmountable, but if she didn’t tell him the truth, how could she ever be honest with her son?
Judah’s son.
Would he forgive her for keeping such a secret from him?
She glanced back into Hank’s office. The custody agreement sat right on top of the folders. Judah was sure to see them. If only they were underneath and out of plain view but they were evidence. Her secret would be entered into the police database. Once read, he would know why she’d stayed away from Shadow Creek. His life would change forever. Or worse...it wouldn’t.
She motioned toward the window. “Our suspect took the fire escape to the street.”
The words she wanted to say stuck inside her. She swallowed and collected all the courage she could, but it wasn’t enough. Not yet. They’d lost their childhood friend tonight. Wasn’t that the more pressing matter?
“What happened?” He kept his distance and pulled out his notepad to take her statement. She hesitated, weighing the words in her mind. He was here, standing in front of her. The speech she’d planned perched on the tip of her tongue. She started to speak, but the right words didn’t come.
“Hank Adler’s dead.”
Judah holstered his gun while the other investigators cleared the room. Sasha Kane, his ex-fiancée, stood next to the windows with a camera in hand, red striations around her neck and a purple bruise on the side of her cheek. He was thankful she’d managed to survive but her revelation about his friend cut through to his gut.
She pushed her long dark hair behind her shoulder and nodded toward Hank’s office door. “Did you hear me?”
He didn’t want to believe her words. Hank couldn’t be dead. They’d been inseparable since grade school, and Judah couldn’t imagine his life without the one person who’d supported him when no one else did. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. His body’s in there.”
He looked past her shoulder into the office but didn’t move. As soon as he entered and saw his friend’s remains, the grief would hit. Classic denial, but it was the only way he could process the news while standing in front of the only woman he’d ever loved. He glanced at the bloodstains on her shirt. “Are you hurt?”
Her fingers moved to her throat. The marks grew darker with every passing minute. “I’m fine.”
“I can have the paramedic take a look at you, if—”
“Really. I’m fine.”
“But the blood—”
“It’s Hank’s.”
Another blow chipped away at his obvious delay from entering the room. “Oh.”
Sasha folded her arms across her chest and let her green-eyed gaze drop to the floor. They never were good at talking about the hard times life tossed their way. When Sasha faced pain, emotional or physical, she always retreated and wanted to be alone. He liked to face their problems head-on, the sooner the better, but when rebuffed he turned to his old vice, alcohol. At least he did before Hank helped him sober up.
Judah let the matter drop, since he wasn’t her fiancé anymore. She was a grown woman and could make her own health decisions, like the choice she’d made three years ago to leave him without a word.
He scanned the waiting area. Not much seemed out of place here. Maybe a magazine or two wasn’t in the right spot, but everything else seemed fine, except for the open window where their suspect had escaped.
Sasha turned her camera for him to see. “Here’s some photos. They might be blurry, but they’ll provide some context to what happened after I arrived.”
“Did you get a photo of the murderer?”
“A blurry one when he went out the window. He looked back up at me, but since I was chasing him, there’s motion on the photo.”
“You chased him?” He pointed at her neck. “After he almost killed you?”
She stared at him for an extra moment, as if she was surprised by his question. Sasha never was one to back down from a fight, no matter how outmatched she was. “I couldn’t let him get away. Not after what he did to Hank.”
Judah didn’t know whether to be impressed or angry at her impulsive decision. “These photos ought to make you popular with our killer.”
“Tell me about it.”
Judah advanced through the images. They were blurry, yes, but a couple of them could be used. However, if they wanted a good identification that would stand up in court, he’d need Sasha to select their killer from a lineup and be willing to take the stand. Defense attorneys would shred most of these pictures with one look. “Did you see which way he went?”
“Into the parking structure underneath the building.”
He motioned for a couple of patrol officers to check out the garage, then shifted his gaze to the open door of his friend’s office. This was the part he always dreaded. Even though he saw dead bodies on a regular basis, the initial viewing took his breath—and this time his best friend was the victim. “He’s in there, you said?”
“Yeah.” She stepped to the side to let him pass. “I found him on the floor and moved in to help, but he was already gone. Then I called dispatch and started documenting the scene. After I took a few photos, the killer lunged from the closet and attacked me.”
Judah jotted down a few notes. “Do you think you could ID the person who attacked you?”
“Maybe. The office was dark. We were fighting, and then he ran. Everything happened so fast, but I did get a pretty good look at him.”
“I’ll get a sketch artist in here and let you work with them.” He was stalling. As soon as he saw his friend’s body, Hank would no longer be a part of his everyday life. The reality was almost too much to bear, but he had a job to do, and if anyone could get justice for Hank, he would.
Judah stepped through the office door, the metallic scent of death assaulting his senses. Hank’s Italian-leather loafers protruded from the side of his desk. Blood was spattered on the walls and across several stacks of folders. His friend had put up a fight, judging from all the broken glass and disarray inside the room. He hoped the killer had gotten the beating he deserved. If only Hank had been the victor.
Judah knelt by his best friend’s side. His chest ached with the loss. He’d tried to warn Hank about some of the clients he defended, but his friend only listened to one voice. His own. The same stubborn tenacity that worked for him in the courtroom was most likely what got him killed.
He fought back his emotions, not wanting Sasha to see him cry. “Did the killer have any tattoos, markings?”
“One on his right forearm and a scar on his left cheek. Looked like an NX5 gang tattoo.”
His body tensed. NX5 gang members claimed Shadow Creek as their territory and often slipped through the legal system, courtesy of Hank’s brilliant legal mind, but his friend had recently lost one of their latest cases, and a high-level NX5 member had gone to prison as a result. The man only made it one week in general population before he was fatally shanked.
A couple of weeks prior, Hank had come to Judah, worried about his safety, but no clear threat had been made against him. Judah had done everything he could to protect his friend, but having a patrol officer drive by his office and home during each shift wasn’t going to stop these guys from enacting revenge for not winning the case.
“Did you take photos of Hank’s body?”
“I documented everything.”
He stood and held out his hand. “I’ll need the SD card. The images are evidence, and I want them secured.”
“I’m happy to give you a copy, but I’ve had too many SD cards get lost in evidence lockers, and sometimes the DA comes to me for the images.”
“It’s protocol.” He met her gaze. Despite the obvious attack, she still looked the same after three years—the same beautiful green-eyed girl who broke his heart. Her return to his life only intensified the sting of betrayal he’d felt after she disappeared without a word.
No explanation.
No phone call.
Not even a Dear John letter.
He couldn’t trust her, not then and not now.
Sasha reached into her bag, pulled out a business card and pen, then wrote something on the back, sliding the information into his hand. “The images automatically upload to a cloud account. Here’s the login information. It’s easiest to access the photos from there.”
She let her fingers linger against his palm a moment longer than normal. “Do me one favor.”
Her dark red nails dug into the skin of his hand just a bit before he pulled away. “I’m not much for professional favors. Clouds a cop’s judgment.”
She shook her head. “Oh, it’s nothing like that. The images you’ll need are in a folder labeled ‘Forensic Photos.’ When I get time, I’ll move them into one with a specific case-file number. It’s my system to keep things organized. Please keep them in the folder and don’t move or delete them.”
Judah flipped the business card over and read her writing on the back before looking at the front. Her name was embossed in gold with her job title underneath. “You’re the department’s new forensic photographer?”
“Started last week. I was in training most of that time, so unfortunately, this is my first official case. Why did you think I was taking photos?”
“I heard you did forensic photography in Raleigh, and I figured that carried over here but I didn’t realize you worked for the precinct now.”
“I was part of the homicide investigative team there and took all the crime scene photos. I really enjoyed it but I’m a cop first. Of course, you know that since we graduated from the police academy together. How’d you hear about my forensic photography?”
Heat flushed to his face. “Small town. People talk.”
“Right.”
He stood, pulled on a pair of gloves and inspected the bullet in the wall. The sooner this topic ended, the better. He didn’t want her to know he’d kept tabs on her over the past few years and prayed she bought his explanation. Judah refocused on the scene in order to keep from saying something more he might regret.
“No murder weapon?”
“I didn’t see one.”
“Not even on the man who attacked you?”
“He didn’t have one. At least not in his hand. Maybe on his person somewhere, but he never pulled it out.”
“That’s odd. You think he would’ve shot you like Hank.”
“Glad he didn’t.”
“Or he’s not our killer.”
“Why else would he be here?”
“Point taken. Maybe the gun is here somewhere and he wasn’t able to get to it after you arrived.”
“He lunged at me from the closet.”
Judah checked the small space and shelf above but found no weapon.
Another patrol officer walked over. “Detective Walker, the investigative team is here.”
“Great. Let’s extend the perimeter to a one-block radius and lock down the area, including the parking garage. Also, did we get a report back from the team I sent to check out that location? I need to know if they found the murder weapon.”
“Nope. No murder weapon or suspect. Looks like they fled.”
Judah jotted down notes and glanced at Sasha again. “And you didn’t see any vehicle leave the structure, correct?”
“Not while I was at the window. Although I did see Mr. Bell leave.”
“The coffee shop owner?”
“Yeah. Looked like he was locking up for the night. Nothing too suspicious, but I did get some photos of his vehicle and tag.”
“Did he leave before or after you were attacked?”
“Before.”
Judah added the information to his timeline. “Have you finished documenting the scene?”
“I think I’ve got all the required photos, plus a few extra I like to include, so I’m done here unless you need me for something else.”
He’d needed her when his life was in shambles. When he hit rock bottom and thought he’d lost everything, including her. He’d never expected to hear from her again, but then she’d reached out and asked to meet tonight. “I’ve got a few minutes to talk if you want.”
“About what?” She flipped through the photos on her camera, then pulled a white cloth from her bag to wipe down the lens.
“Whatever you wanted to meet about today.”
Sasha stopped wiping and slowly lowered her camera into the padded compartment of her bag. “This really isn’t the time, not with what’s happened to Hank. We can find another day to discuss a few things.”
She zipped up her bag and headed for the door, but Judah followed. He knew something was up. She always bolted when she didn’t want to face a difficult subject. When they’d fought about his drinking, she’d hit him with a few stinging remarks and then head for home or to a friend’s house without giving them time to work through their issues.
He stepped into the hallway. “Wait a minute.”
She slowed at the top of the stairs and placed a hand on the baluster. “I’ve really got to get going.”
He walked over to her and kept his voice low. “We haven’t talked in years, and out of the blue you contact me about meeting at Hank’s office and then I get called to his murder scene where you’re the eyewitness. What’s going on? Don’t you think you owe me some kind of explanation after all this time?”
“You’re right. You at least deserve that, but this conversation really needs to wait until another day. With Hank’s death, we need to focus on his case right now.”
“Was there something going on with you and Hank?”
Her eyes widened at his implied accusation. “Nothing more than a friend helping a friend.”
“Then what? Did you and Hank get in a fight or something? You were the one to discover his body. You’re the one with blood on your clothes. If something happened between the two of you and things got out of hand, you can tell me. I can help find you a good lawyer.”
Her body stiffened. “You can’t possibly think—”
He folded his arms across his chest. “I’m not saying you pulled the trigger—”
“Are you serious? You actually think I have it in me to kill Hank? I know it’s been a few years, Judah, but I would never do anything to hurt him—or anyone, for that matter. He was my good friend, too.”
He hated to press, but he had to make sure she was telling him the truth. With three years gone by and the fact she was clearly hiding something from him, maybe she’d changed from the woman he knew. “Sometimes things happen. Tempers flare and—”
“I didn’t shoot Hank.” She paused as another officer climbed to the top of the stairs and passed them. “I can’t believe you would even think something like that, especially since you know me so well. What we have to discuss has nothing to do with the case other than it is the reason I was at Hank’s office in the first place.”
“And why were you here? At the very time Hank was killed. Maybe I could understand better if you told me the reason.”
She adjusted the camera strap on her shoulder and looked at the door. “He was helping me with a legal matter, that’s all.”
She headed down the stairs, out of the building and let the metal door slam behind her. Always running. That’s what she did when things got tough. How would he ever be able to work with her again with so much baggage between them?
He’d focus on finding Hank’s killer and then look for another job. This time he’d be the one to leave before Sasha Kane had a chance to destroy his life again.
Copyright © 2024 by Shannon Moore Redmon