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Evan
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“Bradley. Wake up.” I felt my ribs being poked. “Evan, Dammit!” Adams yelled, violently shaking the small cot I lay on. “God damn it, Bradley. Wake up!”
“Jeez, man. Can’t you see I’m trying to sleep here?” I rolled on my back, putting the musty pillow over my face as I turned my back to Adams. I breathed in, and the mothballs and mildew stung my nostrils. Bad idea. I coughed.
Luke Adams needed to learn how to wake people up. I was partial to dumping water on him. I smiled. He was still new to the police force and had been assigned to me ten months earlier as my partner. He was good at what he did, but turnover in this job was high. Usually a newbie lasted a year, tops. I was cruising along, though. My seven years were coming up in a few months while Adams was dangerously close to his year. I was waiting for him to crack like the rest, go mental under the pressure of rape victims and hard crime, but he was unwavering and had a cast-iron stomach. Maggot-filled bodies? No problem. Stab wounds the size of the state of Texas? Show him more. He might just hack it. I was sure his brief stint in the army and working for the CIA helped with that.
He was tough, built like a brick shithouse, and he reminded me of a heavyweight fighter. Coupled with his dark brown complexion and his body full of tattoos, he certainly fit the bill. His body was a canvas for any tattoo artist who wanted to have a go. A few inches over six feet, he stood inches above me and I was five eleven. But Adams was pure muscle. Not an ounce of fat on the guy. When he was assigned to be my partner, I almost shit my pants. His tight military cut—a reminder of his days in the CIA—and his forever serious face let me know he could kick my ass any day. But seeing him with his family melted away that hardness. His wife, Airi, was about half his size, and they had a cute three-year-old little girl, Hana. He turned into a big teddy bear around them, and in the past ten months, they’d become like family to me. I had dinner with them as often as possible, Airi never hesitating to have a place for me at their table. Hana called me Uncle Evan and Jesus, did my heart not squeeze every time I heard those words.
“Yes, I see you’re trying to sleep, but we’ve got bigger problems. A body just popped up,” Adams said as he threw my suit jacket on top of me. “Duty calls, man.”
I groaned, swinging my feet over the cot. There was a loud squeak as the cot tried to adjust to the shift in weight. Goddamn budgets cuts. Couldn’t even get the precinct decent beds anymore. The fact that I pretty much lived at the precinct made my body ache for a more comfortable bed. My shoebox of an apartment was infested with roaches and well, my cell phone never stopped ringing. It seemed the popularity of rape and murder was on the rise.
I put on my jacket, my shoes already on my feet for convenience.
“You drive, man. I’m still half asleep,” I said as I yawned and threw the keys to Adams. He caught them without even looking. I glanced at my cell. 12:03 a.m. I groaned, flippantly wondering why people don’t get murdered at a normal time of day.
“Nice!” He walked ahead, twirling the keys in his hand. I grinned. He loved driving, especially my car. Now that he was a family man, he’d traded in his Mustang for a minivan. I laughed inwardly. That would never be me.
“Hey, Detective Bradley?” The sound of the boss’s voice pierced through my good mood. Shit. What’s he doing here at midnight?
“Yes, sir?” I walked toward his office and stopped at his door. I looked at the new shiny nameplate that hung there: Lieutenant James Moyer. Budget cuts my ass. I massaged my lower back, the kinks already forming due to the hardness of the cot I had just slept on.
“This case, look, it’s a shit show.” He sighed and sat down in his chair. “Twelve a.m. and I should be at home sleeping next to my wife, but I’m trying to catch up on paperwork.” He rubbed his sleep-filled eyes. “But cases like these always take precedence.” He motioned to the chair across from him. I sat down and I waited to hear what mess to expect. I took out my cell phone and shot Adams a text, letting him know to bring the car around and join us.
“Some girl was found splattered on the ground below the Gateway Plaza building.” He pulled out the file, flipping to the first page. He handed it to me and her smiling face stared back at me. It was a school photo, and her St. Michael’s uniform was barely visible in the small frame of the picture. Her brunette hair hung loose around her face, just touching her shoulders. Her olive skin and bright green eyes reminded me of my sister, Mia, and I cringed thinking about what it would be like to lose her. She was all I had.
I hated this part, seeing them before they became victims. They all looked so normal. Alive. That was what made my job hard. I flipped to the next page, not wanting to look at the youthfulness of her face, the happiness fixed in her eyes. That happiness was gone, taken from her far too early. I glanced at the report. There wasn’t much to it. Just information on when she went missing, her age, and a brief description of the man who was seen luring her in. The information was scarce but enough for us to get started when we headed to the crime scene. I glanced down at the chart again. Francine Dewitt. Our victim was only 16. My heart twisted in my chest.
“Not a lot to go on, sir,” I said as I closed the folder and placed it on Lt. Moyer’s desk.
Adams stepped into the office and Lt. Moyer handed him the folder of information. He sat next to me as he scanned through the file placing it back down on his desk.
“I agree there isn’t a lot to go on,” Adams said. “Seems we knew she was missing but did nothing.” Adams leaned forward in his chair, making himself look even bigger and more intimidating than he already did. “Why?”
“I know, Adams, but we did do something. We called in the FBI and have been consulting with them.” Adams sat back and seemed content with the answer. “And we have a lead,” Lt. Moyer added.
“Her friend, Jocelyn Mathers, saw the victim being apprehended and described the perp to a sketch artist.” He paused. “We think it’s related to the Satanic cult. The description matches that of Jameson Cruz. Jocelyn mentioned seeing an inverted pentagram tattoo on his right forearm.”
“Shit,” Adams and I blurted out. Jameson’s father had been the minister of the First Baptist Church in Burke, Virginia. He’d raised his son, Jameson, in the church, on strict religious principles. Apparently, they’d been a little too strict and the church’s views incredibly fundamental. His parents’ beliefs were on the radical side of Christianity. Founded in the ideals where women belonged in the kitchen and should serve the man of the house whenever needed and that children were to be seen, not heard, and obedient, whatever the cost.
Jameson had been beaten often. He’d never been allowed to question the practices of the church, and he definitely hadn’t been allowed to act out against his father or his father’s strict system. When he was twenty-one, his parents were murdered. Their throats were slashed, an inverted pentagram carved onto his father’s forehead. We knew it was Jameson. He didn’t even bother hiding evidence, but he had gone missing, taking his wife Lorelei with him. Since that day, inverted pentagrams had been showing up on churches in the Burke area.
“Like I said”—Lt. Moyer eyeballed Adams—“the FBI has been following this case closely. You may remember Scott Reynolds from the Beautiful Masterpiece case?”
“Yeah,” I commented and Adams nodded.
“Well, he’s been the consultant and now that Francine’s body has surfaced, we will be working with the FBI directly.”
“We can handle it, sir. Bradley and I are known for closing cases quickly,” Adams interjected. I grinned at Adams. We were pretty good. We’d closed three cold cases and ended a major drug ring in less than a year.
“I need you to work with the FBI on this one. They’re bringing in two new agents. Also part of the Beautiful Masterpiece case. One of them is a forensic psychologist and will be a great asset. Getting a profile together and getting into this man’s head is essential.” I sighed. “Be grateful. Agreed, gentlemen?”
“Yes, sir,” Adams and I said in unison.
The FBI agents I’d worked with in the past could be pains in the ass, but I knew we needed to wrap this case up. Plus, Adams and I were stretched pretty thin. The fact that an agent was already consulting on this case showed the severity. We needed to end this case, and fast.
“I’ll reach out to Agent Reynolds as well and collect the information he’s gathered already.”
“All right, then,” Lt. Moyer said with a pat on our backs. “Good luck.” His eyes barely looked at ours as we exited the room. The lieutenant was a straightforward guy, no nonsense, which I appreciated. Despite this case just landing on his desk, there was something about it that put everyone on edge.
I just hoped no one fell over.
