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I glanced over the notes she’d taken and sighed. “Thanks, Peach. Tell the boss-man Spike and I are on it.”
Officer Brown rolled her eyes and called me an asshole under her breath before she spun on her heel and dashed back to her desk.
I attached the yellow sticky paper to my coffee cup and then passed by the other officer’s desks, including my own, until I entered the break room. Spike was there by the coffee machine, sniffling unimpressively at the batch he just poured inside his mug. He had on his best black suit and, like always, his black running shoes. He looked fucking ridiculous, but there had been countless times over the years where we had to chase after suspects on foot, and Spike outright refused to ruin another pair of his fancy shoes while on the job.
“Don’t even bother,” I told him before the cup ever made it to his mouth. “I got you covered.”
“You’re a fucking lifesaver,” he grumbled as he turned to me, taking the cup from my outstretched hand. “The coffee here tastes like dirt and spoiled ass.”
I plucked the sticky note off my cup and handed it over to him.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“A case. Captain wants us on it, pronto.”
“Fuck.” Spike ground his teeth the longer he glared at the details, his sharp jaw set. “I hate these cases.”
“I know,” I answered, feeling just as dismayed as he looked.
“One of the biker gangs?” he wondered, glancing up at me with a thick brow raised.
I shrugged. “We won’t know until we get there. Are you ready?”
“Let me take a leak first. I’ll meet you at the car.”
Minutes passed before Spike came out the precinct and slid inside the passenger seat, closing the door behind him. I sipped my coffee as I drove and bobbed my head to my Five Finger Death Punch CD, laughing softly as Spike began singing along and tapping his fingers against the dash, feeling the music.
We made it to the hospital, and when we walked in, flashed our badges at the hospital staff and gave them the 411 about why we were there. We were told to wait in the emergency room lobby for the doctor on duty. He came out minutes later and greeted us both with firm handshakes.
“Her name is Delilah Fields,” the older man with a bald head and thick glasses said to us. “She was brought in a few hours ago thanks to an anonymous caller claiming they’d found her unconscious in an alley. She was assaulted and severely beaten.”
“Rape kit?” Spike asked.
“Already done. It’ll take some time, but we should hopefully have the DNA results within a few hours. I put a rush on it. Hopefully we can give this poor girl some answers. She’s scared shitless.”
“Is she awake?” I asked.
The doctor nodded. “She is. We had to sedate her when they first brought her in. She’s a little groggy but she’s alert and verbal.”
“May we speak with her?”
“Of course. Follow me.”
We followed the doctor down a few halls and watched as he paused outside of a door, knocking twice before entering. Spike walked in before me and cursed under his breath. I stepped inside, my guts twisting when I laid eyes on the young girl with two massive purple shiners under her bloodshot eyes, and fingertip bruises peppered everywhere along her neck and collarbone.
“Delilah,” the doctor spoke sweetly, trying to calm her as she tried to sit up in bed, her eyes wide in utter terror. “This is Detective Rhodes and his partner, Detective Hutch. They’re here to ask you some questions and help in any way they can.”
“Hi there, Delilah,” I spoke to her first. “Is it okay if we talk to you?”
“I-I guess.”
Spike grabbed two chairs and planted them a few inches away from the hospital bed. The doc took his leave and together my partner and I sat down with our pads out and ready.
“Can you tell us what happened to you?” Spike asked.
“I-I didn’t want to go.” Tears rolled down her bruised face. “My boyfriend made me go!”
“It’s okay, Delilah,” I assured her. “You’re safe here. Nobody is going to hurt you. Tell us what happened. Where did your boyfriend take you?”
