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16 Days Later - Monday. Darby
I wasn’t entirely sure about this, but I sat down between the victim in Mark’s and my latest case, and the person we were almost positive had killed him. While my partner stood off by a few feet, arms folded, my friend, Medical Examiner Holly Stack, nodded and smiled at me through the observation window a few meters away.
I glanced at Mark, even though he’d been standoffish for the last couple weeks.
He didn’t look at me.
Dang it, I needed some reassurance here. He’d been my rock so long, I didn’t know what to do now that I was getting a mostly cold shoulder from him.
Next to me, our presumed killer was sedated. She’d been a handful to bring in, and Mark was going to have the bruises to prove it. She’d managed to kick him just about everywhere and had been going for the groin when I’d managed to grab my stunner and knock her out.
“Well, get on with it,” Mark said, speaking to me for the first time since we’d arrested our suspect. “We don’t have all day.”
I swallowed. I hadn’t supported the arrest, not completely at least. Mark and the D.A. had. As the junior member of the team, I’d been overruled.
The harsh attitude Mark had had since Costa Rica had long since gotten old, but I knew I’d brought this on myself.
Pull it together, Shaw. Now isn’t the time.
I took a bracing breath and placed my hands on both victim and murderer at the same time. Energy instantly began to flow from the murderer to the victim.
I could just about hear Mark say, “I told you so” in my head. And even though my gaze hadn’t locked on him, I could see that smug smile in my periphery.
Some days, I wanted to smack him.
Lately, it had been most days.
The resuscitation lasted a couple minutes. When my hands dropped away, a medical team rushed in and swept both people on stretchers out.
I put my head between my knees. This one wouldn’t be as bad as they could be. I kept telling myself that, but there’d be a headache. And maybe some mild nausea. And the fatigue.
God, I hated the fatigue.
Couple that with my chronic insomnia, and I didn’t sleep enough.
Mark passed me a recyclable cup filled with cold water.
Our fingers grazed and a bit of electricity passed between us, like what I’d just experienced with our victim and killer. Mildly painful, though. I tried not to wince. Good thing I had three years of practice at hiding the pain.
I glanced up.
His jaw had tightened even further. He was going to need dental work again if this kept up.
“Thank you,” I murmured.
He grunted in response, then pulled his hand away quickly and stuffed it in his pocket.
I drank the water, relieved that the pain associated with his light touch would wane.
It took a few minutes, but I felt stronger. When I was certain I wasn’t going to collapse, I slowly got to my feet, bracing for wooziness that didn’t come.
“We’d better get back to the office,” Mark said. “We need to file our reports, and there’s a ball game on tonight I want to watch.”
I nodded, filled the cup again on our way out the door, then hustled to catch up with his long strides. Three weeks ago, he would have slowed up for my short legs.
The civility had stopped when we got off the plane from Costa Rica.
At least he had the common courtesy not to leave me at the hospital and was waiting under the portico when I finally exited the building.
At Kansas City Bendex PD headquarters, we settled into our respective desks across from each other. He barely even acknowledged my offer to get him a cup of tea from the break room, although he drank it willingly enough when I brought it back for him.
Inwardly, I sighed as I logged in to begin my own report.
Mark and I needed to talk.
Desperately.
But even though I’d hinted around, he hadn’t taken the bait. Maybe it was time to be blunter.
Although I didn’t know what to say to him. He was pissed at what I’d told him. Pissed I’d not said anything for two years. I supposed I could understand why.
Didn’t mean I didn’t feel at least somewhat justified in doing it.
I dove into my report, finally finishing it about thirty minutes before end of shift. I tapped my glass screen and sent it to Mark’s unit for approval before sending it up the chain, then stood up and stretched. I was feeling good, all things considered. Tired, yes, but not exhausted. If the resuscitation today hadn’t been our case, it would be ten times worse than it was now. We weren’t sure why it happened that way, just that it did. My doctors had no explanation for the difference in how the resuscitations affected me.
Not that I was going to run a marathon anytime soon. Those days were behind me with the resuscitation business anyway, but at least my headache was subsiding for the most part.
Well, it was now or never on the Mark front. My courage was bolstered, and I didn’t want to back down now.
“I was thinking about grabbing some barbecue after shift,” I said to Mark. “You want to join me?”
He ignored me for a long moment, long enough I thought he’d not heard. Was he so mad he’d intentionally ignore my request, ignore me? Surely, he wasn’t that harsh? If he was, then he wasn’t the Mark I’d grown to know.
When I was about to ask again, he finally turned and opened his mouth.
Which was precisely when both our comms rang. I sighed and put mine in my ear. “Detective Shaw.”
“Shaw, Detective Darby,” the mechanical voice said. “Please report to 7683 Burlington. Address sent to your in-vehicle unit. Probable homicide. Please acknowledge.”
“Acknowledged. On our way.” I turned it off but left it in my ear. I glanced at my partner. “Grab your gear.”
“Where is it?”
“East side, I think. Have you heard of Burlington?”
“Yeah, my sister used to live near there. Close to Raytown.”
I nodded as I pushed all five-foot-one of me to my feet, uncoded my desk drawer and retrieved my Glock 53 to place it in its holster. “You’re driving.”
We stopped in the detective’s locker room for our gear and belongings, then were out the door. Mark took the helm of our company Flexion.
We were quiet on the way to the scene. I’d thought if we could grab dinner after shift, we could hash out some of what had gone down in the last couple weeks, but with a fresh body, it could be hours before we left.
“Did you have a good weekend?” Maybe if I asked after his family—who he was almost always with on weekends—he’d crack a little. He loved talking about his family.
He grunted. “Camping with Melinda and Moira and their crew.”
Two of his older sisters. “Nine kids and five adults? Crazy!”
“The oldest two had things to do in the city. So, it was a little smaller.”
I let things go quiet before speaking again. “How’s your mother?”
“Fine. She and her boyfriend are going to Florida next month.”
I winced.
Marie Herman had started dating someone from her senior grief group a few months earlier. Tricky topic for my partner.
Delicately, I asked, “What do you think of that?”
He shrugged. “She’s a grown woman. I don’t get a say.”
Mark’s dad, Major Mark Herman Senior, had been killed in the line of duty about three and a half years earlier, six months before Mark and I had become partners. I’d always gotten the sense it hurt him more deeply than he let on. It may have explained one of the tattoos he bore. I’d never taken the chance to ask him about the markings shaped like our badges with words inside I’d never quite been close enough to read.
“I don’t think I’d handle it well if Simon was dating. He’s been a widower a lot longer than your mom, too.”
He grunted in response.
I took it to mean he didn’t want to talk about it. I folded my hands and looked out the window.
Several minutes later, Mark parked our SUV inside the scene barriers, and we got out. After signing in with the sergeant in charge of security, we headed into the house. I tucked my hair back in a bun while we walked.
The house was a modern style with lots of stone on the lower half of the main floor exterior, and a small, stone-walled courtyard leading to the front door. A water feature gurgled happily near the entry to the home. The pond attached to the fountain held several large white-and-gold koi.
We sealed our hands and feet at the door with Scene-Guard spray, then followed the noise of activity to an office space off the expansive kitchen.
A dozen officers and CSU-types were working either in the room or just outside it. Mark led the way, flashing his badge at a few of the newer patrol officers.
Holly Stack glanced up from her work near the body in front of the large mahogany desk. “I hoped you’d be assigned.”
“Long time, no see,” I quipped, squatting next to her. Mark crouched on the opposite side of the body facing us. “What have we got?”
“Female victim, mid-thirties. Not sure what killed her. These wounds could potentially be from a knife. I’ll have to get her back to the morgue to know for sure.”
“How long has she been dead?” Mark asked, not taking his eyes from the pretty face of the victim.
“Indicator shows it as last night. Probably around eight-forty-five. They have a good day’s lead on you.”
“Any idea who she is?” I asked.
“House is owned by Prairie Rasmussen. No one’s found a purse or anything in the house to confirm, but now you’re here, you could see if she matches the data in the state system.” She frowned and seemed like she wanted to say more.
Mark nodded to me, and I stood and stepped back to the edge of the room. Even if we were at odds with each other, we could be mature adults at a crime scene. In three-plus years of partnership, we could do a lot by tacit agreement too. I pulled out my glass and tapped the name into the system. The glass went opaque in my hands, searching for the data, then brought up a driver’s license picture and data sheet on Prairie.
I compared from the glassy-eyed victim to the screen. Looked like a match to me.
“Who found her?” Mark asked.
A uniform stepped forward. “I did, Detective. A coworker was worried when she didn’t show up for work, and I was sent over with the coworker to see if she was okay. When we arrived, the front door was unlocked, though not open.”
“Not locked?”
The cop nodded. “Yessir. I thought it was suspicious, so I had her remain outside.”
“Has the house been fully cleared?” I asked.
The uniform turned to me. “Yes’m. Once additional officers arrived, we cleared the entire house, including the basement and garage.”
“Thank you, Officer.”
“Has the coworker been informed?” Mark asked.
The officer shook his head. “No, sir. I’m sure she’s got it figured out by now, though. Especially with you on scene, Detective Shaw.”
I’d become something of a local celebrity. And I hated it. Not only did I dislike the attention, it also made doing my job tedious. It made killers hesitate to talk, and it gave families too much hope I would be able to bring back their loved ones. Being a superhuman capable of bringing the murdered back to life had its downsides.
Mark, Holly, and I exchanged a look. Holly looked to the officer. “Please escort her in. She can verify identity.”
As the officer hurried off, my partner stood. “Any info in there on what she does or next of kin?”
“Neither,” I said. Mark sidled up next to me. I glanced around the comfortable home office. “Whatever she did, she either got paid well, or was extended through the nose.”
A cursory sweep of our victim’s credit would give a solid picture of which. We’d check it just to look for motive, though I wasn’t certain a creditor would stab someone so many times over an unpaid debt.
“Agreed.” He waved his hand over my glass and grunted at the lack of information.
We turned at the sound of a sob behind us. A woman somewhere between my age and Mark’s stood outside the door next to the office. She was easily a half a foot taller than me, maybe a bit more, with golden curls which made the girl in me a little jealous—and made me wonder if the color had come from a bottle. Other than the fact she was carrying a few extra pounds, she could have stepped off a modeling runway.
“Prairie!” she cried and tried to rush into the room.
Mark and I plus a couple of the other officers blocked her attempts. Once she stopped fighting to get into the crime scene, she calmed a bit, though tears streamed down her face.
My partner said, “You can confirm the deceased is Prairie Rasmussen?”
The woman nodded, swiping at tears. “Yes, that’s Prairie. What happened?”
“We’re not sure yet,” I said.
Mark lifted his chin toward the staircase; I nodded. At least that still worked. We still understood each other, at least enough to do our jobs.
“Come on, let’s go somewhere so we can talk,” I said. I took her elbow. If I’d been taller, I’d have put my arm around her shoulder, but she was closer to Mark’s height.
The staircase was wide enough for all three of us to sit side-by-side, but Mark stood in front of the woman and me. I patted her back gently.
“What’s your name?” Mark asked, taking out his own glass. If he followed protocol, the record feature was on before he said it. It would take some video, but mostly audio of the interview.
“Winifred. Labbee. I work with Prairie.”
“And you’re sure that’s her in there?”
She sniffed. “I didn’t get a great look at her face, but I recognized her hair. Her clothes. That OU sweatshirt was a favorite.”
I glanced at Mark. We could take her over to see the victim to confirm, but not with the scene in its current state. It was the kind of thing to give one bad dreams if they weren’t prepared to deal with it.
Mark caught my gaze and shook his head slightly where Winifred probably wouldn’t notice. All right then.
“What do you both do?” I asked, shifting back to Labbee.
“We work for the Department of SuperHuman Affairs. Prairie and I are in the compliance department, you know, making sure those supers are keeping us updated on their residences and abilities. Issuing fines to those who don’t register or update.”
I gulped and attempted to hide the shudder that tried to break through. The DSHA? Just hearing the name sent waves of panic through my system. Two years earlier, they’d spearheaded an operation to kidnap me and take countless vials of my blood, all for some testing I’d refused to be a part of willingly.
A bead of sweat broke out on my brow, and I swept it away as casually as I could.
Mark glanced up and gave me a quizzical look before diverting his attention back to Winifred. “Why did you call and have us come out?”
“We were supposed to have a big meeting today, and Prairie was giving the main presentation. She had all the files, but she never showed up, no one heard from her saying she was sick. When I tried calling her, she never answered, and that isn’t like her.” Winifred took an unsettled breath, then looked expectantly at Mark. “What happened? Who killed her?”
“We’re not sure yet,” my partner said mildly. “But we’re going to figure it out. Was Prairie having problems with anyone? A super? A co-worker? Boyfriend or husband?”
“There’s always something going on, but Prairie was one of the best. She could smooth things over with just about anyone.”
“Do you know what she was working on?”
Winifred opened her mouth, but then clamped it shut again. She seemed to weigh her words carefully, even scrutinizing me. A flicker of recognition had swept across her face before she reset it. “I’m afraid I can’t give you that information. Especially since she’s here.”
Oh, crap. I’d been afraid she’d recognize me.
Slowly, I pushed myself up to stand.
Mark said, “Detective Shaw is a cop, Ms. Labbee.”
“I’m sorry. The information is confidential. You’ll need to get a court order.”