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Harry woke at four the next morning to the sound of whining sirens passing by her apartment. She stepped out of bed onto the cold, tile floor and walked to the front window in the glow of flashing lights. The sirens turned off as they parked, lights still on, at a location only a block away. She couldn't tell what was going on, but the whole crew was there: police, ambulance, and firetruck.
She dressed, ran a brush through her hair, scrubbed her teeth, then slipped into her coat and boots. She left her apartment, careful to lock the door behind her as she went, and hurried down the stairs. From the garage, she set off on foot in the same direction of her daily jogs. Whatever was happening, it had gone down too close to home.
Some neighbors were outside, their pajamas wrapped in warm robes, and slippers on their feet. They whispered conspiratorially amongst themselves about what could be going on. Wild speculations were making their way through the growing crowd, and Harry distinctly heard the words "attack" and "gang" as she passed.
When she came upon the scene, uniformed cops already had the place taped off and were urging residents back into their homes. It was the first playground on her jogging route, and a sense of deja vu swept over her, thinking about the shocked face of Doll Barbeaux and her boyfriend's peaceful smile as he held the bloody scalp in his hand. She looked around for someone she knew, and spotted Busy just before the younger woman turned to look her way. Their eyes locked, Busy's narrowed, and Harry dropped her head like a dog caught chewing her owner's shoes. When she looked back, Busy was hard at work. Her eyes scanned the group again, and she saw that Jaime Middleston was one of the uniforms corralling people away from the crime scene.
She walked up and Jaime started to ask her to step back, but stop when he recognized Harry's face. "Detective Thresher!" he said, shaking her hand. "Didn't expect you here. Did they finally come to their senses and let you back on the job?" He asked, hand on the crime scene tape to lift it for her to pass.
Harry thought to lie, but knew Busy would have her taken out in a second if she stepped behind that tape. She shook her head. "Nah, I live nearby.” She pointed to her building, then turned back to the scene and gestured at the wall of investigators behind him. “What's going on here?"
He looked around and, finding them more or less secluded from too-eager ears, he leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Homicide. Looks like the body that belonged to the scalp that homeless kid was holding the other night. Teenage girl - pitiful sight," he said, and leaned back. "Okay, everyone back," he called to the neighbors who were starting to gather too close behind Harry. Another uniform cop gave Jaime a look, and he cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, but I'm going to need you to step back, too," he said to Harry with a look of apology.
She raised her hands in defeat. "I totally understand. Hey, man, if you ever feel like grabbing a beer, gimme a call." He grinned and gave her a tip of his hat, and she melted back into the crowd. The people around were mostly rubbernecking neighbors. No one looked too interested or out of place—except maybe her. Busy frowned at her, an evidence tent in one gloved hand, then looked away again and got back to work. Harry felt like a genuine asshole as she turned and walked back to her apartment to wait for daybreak.
––––––––
AS SOON AS SHE KNEW it would be safe to go in, Harry headed to the precinct and toward the office of her old superior, Captain Blanca Briggs. But she was barely past the front doors when she was stopped at the front desk. "Harry Thresher. I didn't expect to see you here."
Liam Benoit stared at her with his arms crossed over his puffed out chest.
"I need to talk to Captain Briggs. Is she available?" Harry asked. She shouldn't have to ask permission, and the ingratiating look on Benoit's face made her wanted to clock him. She smiled harder.
Benoit glanced down the hall, then back at Harry. He couldn't see her office from his location, and they both knew it. "I think she's in a meeting right now. You know, police business." He picked up a pencil and a memo pad. "But I would be glad to take a message for you, ma'am." He emphasized the form of address, and it grated on Harry's ears like a slur.
"No, thank you," Harry said. Her face hurt from smiling. "Have a nice day, Benoit."
He stared as she walked back out and onto the sidewalk. She swore aloud and had to stop herself from giving a swift kick to the trash can in front of her as she left the building. She glared down at the metal can and thought of all the ways she could really hurt Benoit without leaving any evidence that could tie her to the attack.
"What did that trash can ever do to you?"
Harry's scowl dropped as she turned around to face Captain Briggs. "Captain, I was just asking to see you, but it seems you're in a meeting."
Briggs chuckled and glanced down at her cardboard coffee cup. "Yes, I suppose it is a meeting of sorts. What can I do for you?" She carefully avoided addressing Harry, which the disgraced detective was thankful for.
"I woke up last night to the sound of sirens, so I went to check out what was going on. You found the girl that belonged to the hair from the other night?"
Briggs nodded and gestured for Harry to follow her into the precinct. "Walk me to my office."
Harry jogged up the steps and opened the door for Briggs. When Benoit saw the two of them together, Harry smiled again, and Benoit scowled back with a renewed fury.
"Hold my calls, Benoit," Briggs said as they passed. "I'm in a meeting."
Harry could barely contain her joy, and had to bite her bottom lip to stop the eruption of laughter that threatened in her chest. "Thanks for seeing me."
Briggs waved her thanks away and led the way to her office. Once inside, she motioned for Harry to close the door behind them, and settled down into her chair with a groan that belied her aching back. "I really wish I had you and Gafferty on this one. As much of a pain in my ass that you both were, you handled cases most of these kids couldn't dream of solving."
"Who do you have on it?" Harry asked, basking in the glow of a massive and rare compliment.
Briggs took a drink of her coffee and gave Harry a pointed look. "Tayte and Gordon."
Harry shrugged. "They're not bad. They don't have their heads up their own asses, which gives them a fair shot at solving this thing."
The captain sighed, put down her coffee, and leaned back in her giant office chair. "I know it sounds implausible, but this case is pretty cut-and-dried. The boy was found with her scalp, and unless we find any other foreign DNA on her body..."
Harry sat up. "Captain, you can't be serious."
Briggs held up her hand to quiet her. "I know it sounds ridiculous, but this looks like the work of one seriously disturbed boy."
"How do you explain the two days between finding him and finding her body?" Harry asked, hot around the collar. Her foot started to tap with unspent aggression, and she could feel her face twist into a mask of disgust.
Briggs leaned forward and grabbed her coffee cup, but didn't pick it up. "There were animal tracks on the scene, and bite marks on the body. Right now, we're operating under the assumption that nature took its course."
"You're telling me a dog or something grabbed this human body and moved it." Harry snorted in disgust. "Who was it, anyway? Another street kid?"
"Or the dog simply made it visible," Briggs said, her tone sharp. "Either way, the boy has confessed to the murder of this girl. She was a seventeen-year-old from Alabama, a runaway whose parents had her listed on the national registry for missing and exploited children. Marlee Platt.” She sipped her coffee and seemed to carefully weigh her words. “Thresher, he says he acted alone."
Harry stood up and started to pace the short length of the captain's tidy office, thinking of the girl that Doll had told her had disappeared—a girl named Marlee. "So, the kid says he did it alone, animals dragged her body from wherever it was hiding, and this case is closed. Just like that?"
"Just like that," the captain said with a sigh. "You really need to calm down. This isn't your case."
"It would be if I had my badge," Harry spat. She shook with fury.
Captain Briggs watched her fume in stony silence. After a few moments, she stood up and dwarfed Harry with the sheer length of her limbs. "I'm sorry. This case is pretty much closed, and until you meet with the police board, you can't touch it or any other cases."
"This is such bullshit," Harry muttered. She crossed her arms and stared up at the captain. "Why do I have to wait so long, anyway?"
"Without a big uproar for your badges, the police board doesn't need to push you through quickly. You and your partner were lucky that the major players in that case were all white. We're in a load of pain right now with the Carras case."
Harry pointed a finger at Briggs. "That asshole had better lose his badge for good. He shot an unarmed man without provocation, just like all the other tools running around like goddamned Nazi pricks using their power to further their racist agenda. Someone needs to be punished or it’s going to keep happening.”
Briggs stared Harry down, and Harry dropped her hand. "It's not up to me," the older woman said softly. "You know if it were, I would have him on trial for murder with a slam-dunk case no jury could refute.”
Harry softened. "I know. I'm sorry. I've just been spending a lot of time with these kids..."
"At the shelter. I know, I've heard."
Harry's shoulders slumped. "One of these kids I met when she was a little thing. I put her pedo father in jail in a child pornography sting. She was this kid Hardy's girlfriend before he went MIA a few months ago."
Briggs came around the desk and put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I know it's hard, but you have to let us do this for now. Once you're cleared and you get your badge back, cases like this are yours."
"You really think I'll get my badge back?"
Briggs smiled at her. "If you don't, we'll appeal until you do. You might not follow all the rules, but you're a good cop, and you’re very effective in taking out the trash.”
They made small talk for a few more minutes, then Harry left. She shot Benoit a roguish grin on her way out of the precinct, then headed in the direction of the shelter. They had an art show fundraiser to put on, and Harry wasn't planning to allow the kids to let themselves down by not giving it their best.
She also had to figure out a way to investigate without tipping off Briggs or the detectives on the case. Harry knew the consequences of being caught up in a case to which she wasn't assigned; her likelihood of getting her badge back would only get slimmer if she was caught with her hands in the cookie jar.
Fly under the radar? Piece of cake.
