Standing in her living room, Shadowhawk heard a booming voice directly behind her. “Drop the gun!”
“Shit.” She pointed her gun and other hand in the air before she spun around and came face to face with two uniformed cops. “I’m the one who called you, asshole. This is my house.”
“Watch it, lady. Put the gun down and your hands on your head.”
Great, I’m being arrested by Beavis and Butthead in my own home.
She gently set the gun on the ground, then lifted the corner of her jacket that hid the badge clipped to her belt. “I’m on the job.”
Beavis said, “Show us some ID.”
“Are you going to lower your weapons?”
“After we see your ID,” Butthead added.
“Seriously?” Neither blinked. Both kept their guns trained on her. She wanted to let loose a stream of expletives, but heaved a big sigh instead. These idiots might shoot her and ask forgiveness later. They had to be rookies.
“Okay. I’m going into my top front pocket. I’d appreciate it greatly if you didn’t shoot me. This is my favorite jacket.”
“Slowly,” Butthead said.
“If I went any slower, I’d be going in reverse.” She handed over her billfold. Beavis lowered his gun so he could take possession. He flipped it open and stared at it for what seemed like an hour. Slow reader. He looked to his partner and nodded. Finally, they put their pieces away.
“Homicide, huh? What’s that like?” Beavis asked.
“People are dying to see me.” She gave him a closed mouth grin.
“Cute,” Butthead said. “What’s going on? We had a report of a stolen vehicle. What’s that in the driveway?”
“That’s the truck that was ripped off.”
“Guess you don’t need us then.” Butthead turned to leave.
“Actually, I do. You need to call forensics and have it dusted for prints.”
“How did you get it back?” Beavis asked.
“Whoever jacked it, drove it here and parked it.”
“And why would they do that?” Beavis again.
“To screw with me, because they can.”
Butthead crossed his arms over his chest. “I can’t imagine why anyone would want to screw with you, since you have such a winning personality.”
She glared at him. “Could be any number of people. Perhaps someone felt as if their family member didn’t deserve to go to prison. Or someone who’s blaming me for their screwed up life. Whatever the reason, I’d like to get to the bottom of it. Unless, of course, you have somewhere else you need to be.”
Beavis said, “So why did you have your gun out?”
“I was just about to clear the house. Care to do that with me now?”
They looked at each other and shrugged before they pulled their pieces.
Someone stop me before I shoot these idiots. I swear the world would thank me.
The house was clear. All the doors and windows were locked. But that didn’t make Shadowhawk feel any better; her house key was among the keys on her ring. The alarm might prove problematic, but not impossible to bypass.
Forensics found her vehicle clean, literally. It had been wiped of all prints and the keys had been left in the ignition. As soon as she could, she altered the code on the burglar alarm and called the company to change the password. She had a friend who was a locksmith come over and replace all the locks throughout the house.
It wasn’t until after eleven when she was finally alone. She made a ham sandwich and grabbed a bag of chips before she sat in front of the TV. She was having a hard time focusing though, the mystery behind the theft of her truck kept running through her mind. What the hell was that all about? What did they hope to gain?
How the hell did they know where her vehicle was? Did they follow the tow truck? That would mean the person who damaged her tires was the one who stole her truck, which also meant she was being followed.
Your more hardened criminals were usually overt, unless sending a message was the objective. And that message would be what, exactly? This time your tires, next time your brake line? Harmless prank, or was her life in danger? Shit. All this speculating was giving her a headache.
She turned off the TV and threw her half-eaten sandwich in the trash. After checking the locks one more time and making sure the alarm was set, she went to bed. She didn’t expect to get much sleep, but she had to try.
Shadowhawk must have dozed off, because the next thing she knew, the burglar alarm was squealing. She bolted upright, her heart hammering in her chest and glanced at the clock. It was 3:28 in the morning. After grabbing her Glock, she set out to search the house for an intruder.
Not only was she alone, but the doors and windows were locked. She finally answered the ringing phone. It was the alarm company. After giving her new code word, she told them not to send the police. She had it handled. After hanging up the land line, she wondered if she’d lied. She’d confronted deranged killers on the job, but how could she fight a coward who kept hidden?
It was time to check the perimeter of the house. She grabbed a flashlight and slipped out the sliding glass door that led to the backyard. The patio was cement, no footprints to be found. She went around the right side of the dwelling that was paved with stepping stones. She opened the gate and came to the empty driveway. She’d pulled her truck into the garage after forensics was through with it.
The front stoop was clean, so she carried on to the other side of the garage and through the gate. She passed the trash cans. That’s when she noticed the side door leading into the garage stood ajar. She inched toward it and pushed it open with her foot. Gun raised, she peered inside, shining the light around. With no threat evident, she flicked on the overhead light.
Naturally, whoever was there was long gone. The outside door wasn’t wired to the alarm system, so the perp had to have been screwing with the door to the house. No scratches or damage to the lock. Did the asshat actually think that since she left the keys in the truck’s ignition that Shadowhawk wouldn’t realize she’d made a spare?
To preserve any prints that might be on the knob, she ran around to the sliding glass door to enter the house. She collected a can of cocoa powder, scotch tape, and an index card, then ran upstairs to the loft where she currently kept her paint supplies.
She grabbed one of the camel hair brushes then glanced at the half-finished water color resting on the easel. With it came the memory of why the picture had not been completed.
It was late one Saturday afternoon, when she’d set up the easel and her paints out on the balcony outside the master bedroom. She had in mind to capture the tumultuous sea while the sun set behind ribbons of clouds producing the most amazing array of colors.
Maria had come out and told her how sexy she looked when she concentrated so hard. One thing led to another and they spent the next few hours worshiping each other’s bodies. The kids had been spending the weekend with their father. The recollection was bitter sweet.
Shadowhawk should reclaim Hesper’s old room as her studio. That way she could lock the door to her past and throw away the key.
Galloping down the stairs, she took the door out to the garage. No need to worry about messing up any fingerprints on the inside knob. She set her tools on the dryer, the nearest flat surface to the door.
After sprinkling the cocoa powder over the knob, she lightly dusted it with the brush. The prints were smeared, but not wiped clean. Which meant the asshole was probably wearing gloves.
It’s not like she was holding out much hope of getting a clean print, but she had to try just the same. Glancing up at the clock over the washer and dryer, she noticed it was four-thirty. She decided to jump in the shower and get to Home Depot when they opened at six.
Shadowhawk installed security cameras over all the outside doors, but didn’t have time to set up the feed to her computer. She had a stop to make before she had to be at work. She grabbed her laptop and took it with her.
The cops had questioned her neighbors last night, but no one had seen anything or noticed when the truck was returned. Shadowhawk went back to see her friend at Big O Tires. After she paid him, she viewed the security footage from the camera set up behind the cash register. The woman was petite. Her clothes were non-descript: a black long sleeved t-shirt and a pair of black jeans.
No jewelry or visible tattoos. She’d stuffed her hair up under a generic baseball cap, no logo. She even kept her sunglasses on. With only her build and stance to go one, Shadowhawk was at a loss. The bitch knew what she was doing.
Traffic was crappy because of an accident and she ended up being twenty minutes late to work. She found Thomas in the office he shared with two other detectives. He was glued to his computer screen.
She plopped down at Campanelli’s desk, as he’d gone back east for the holidays to visit his in-laws. “Hey, what’s up?”
He glanced her way. “Checking out NCIC to see if there’s been any robberies with the same MO.”
NCIC was the National Crime Information Center, a United States central database used for tracking crime-related information and sharing it with authorized law enforcement agencies, in which was included criminal record history information, fugitives, stolen properties, as well as missing persons reports.
“Find any?”
“Not really.” He glanced at his watch. “But I haven’t been at it all that long.”
“Want me to log into VICAP?” she asked.
“That would be great. I’m waiting on a call to let me know when Cheryl’s ready to do Mrs. Schiff’s autopsy.” He glanced up and grinned at her over his computer monitor. “You want to join me?”
“Fuck you very much.”
He laughed. Hard. She was sure he was faking, because it wasn’t that funny. His desk phone rang.
It wasn’t the actual autopsy that kept Shadowhawk out of the morgue, but that damn Stryker saw. The second it was turned on, she started grinding her teeth and the hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention.
Her palms became sweaty. But worst of all, she swore she could feel every cut. Of course, no one believed her. She must have been dismembered by a bone saw in another life. How else could it be explained?
She actually fainted during her first autopsy. Not something you ever live down when working with a bunch of dickweasels. The next day she found cow intestines in her top drawer.
That was fun to clean up.
She’d wrapped them up and put them under the driver’s seat of the head dickweasel’s car; it had been a very hot day. That’ll teach him not to screw with the fuckmaster.
“That was Joe Nguyen. Cheryl’s about ready to start cutting. I’ve gotta get to the morgue,” Thomas said after he hung up.
“I’ll check VICAP and if I don’t find anything, I’ll log into NCIC and finish your search.”
“Thanks.”
Before she did anything, she opened her personal laptop and connected her new security cameras to a live feed.