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“Two workdays. I’ll fly late Wednesday and catch a late night.”
“Three-hour time difference will kick your ass when you’re attempting to wake at a reasonable hour to attend court, and your body clock swears it’s three in the morning.”
“That sounds like a future problem to me. I’m hanging up now, Mayor. Ihave a job to do.” I yank the phone from my ear, ignoring the smug ‘mmhmm’ he rolls along his throat, then kill our call and look up to find Aubree’s bright eyes. “He annoys mesomuch.”
“Sure sounds like it. I’ve extracted the slug and will have it bagged and tagged for the detectives. They’ll swing it by ballistics, but by my untrained, anti-violence, my-parents-were-hippies eyes, I’m seeing what may be a .45 bullet with a tungsten tip.”
Stunned, my stomach does painful cartwheels as I search her expression. “Come again?”
“It’s a cop killer,” she sighs. “Lucas wasn’t wearing a vest, but even if he was…”
“Jesus.” I cast a look out at the crowd who inch closer, their trained investigative stares burning the side of my face. Their tense stances, and their steely silence. Our only mercy right now is the fact that they can’t hear a word we say. “This is really bad.”
“Really, really,” she concurs in a murmur. “We have someone extremely dangerous roaming our streets, and a vested interest in cops we don’t want to die.”
“Make the Y.” I bring my phone up again and hit dial on the one and only name that lights up my screen every single day. We live together. Work together half the time. We’re joined at the hip almost always, and yet, the phones work too, for those moments we’re apart. “We have to get this autopsy done and our reports written up. The faster the detectives have our information, the faster that asshole can be locked in a cage.”
ARCHER
My phone rings as we head toward Glenda Morris’ dress shop. Some folks come out to watch us now, but none speak. None offer information except a standard, ‘I know nothing’. Spying Minka’s name on the screen, I slow my steps and grab Fletch’s sleeve just a beat before he pushes through the shop door, then I swipe to answer and cast a look out at the street.
It’s so fucking quiet, I’m waiting for tumbleweeds to flitter past.
“Minka?” I press my back to the red-brick wall and wait as Fletch does the same. “You okay?”
“Yeah. But you might not be. Your vic was shot with a tungsten tip. Those are the particularly dangerous kind,” she snarls, “in case you were unaware.”
“You got the slug?” Fletch asks. “And already know what it is?”
“Educated guess that Doctor Emeri and I agree on. You’re gonna need more than bullet-proof vests while hunting this guy down.”
“We’re watching our backs and staying safe, Minnnka. You got anything else from the autopsy?”
“No. Aubree’s only just starting. We had to extract the bullet first, and because this is a homicide investigation, we can’t use tools that may mess with ballistics. Aubree’s cutting now, but external examination tells me Lucas Mercer was a healthy male with an above average muscle to fat ratio.”
“As in,he works out?”
“Yep. He’s no gym junkie with twenty-eight-inch biceps. But he does alright for himself. I expect Aubree will open him up and find a reasonably healthy block. Arteries are anticipated to be fine. Healthy heart.”
“His fingertips are clean,” Aubree announces. “No staining.”
I hesitate… “Which means?”
“Apart from the fact his one lung collapsed under the pressure of a bullet wound, we won’t find the kind of damage we might find inside a smoker. Your vic lived a healthy life. Clear skin. Good hydration. If not for his fate with a bullet, he wouldn’t have died anytime soon.”
“Alright.” I bring my hand up and scratch at the stubble coating my jaw. “Thanks. We’re heading in now to talk to the lady who made the 9-1-1 call. After that, we’ll head over to the George Stanley to take a look at our vic. Can you be available for that?”
“Of course. But listen, Archer…” She pauses for a long, loaded beat as tension swirls and the worry I sense in her words trickles down into my stomach. Then she exhales. “This one’s hitting kinda close to home. Ya know? It’s bad enough he killed a cop. It’s worse he used the kind of bullets you can’t hide from. Add in that your vic is a detective from the narcotics division, and I’m starting to sweat a little.”
“Don’t sweat. We’ve got this under control, okay?” I clear my throat and lower my voice. “Obviously, it’s not cool for me to admit this, especially when I’m on shift and searching for a killer. But if this is gang related, I’m probably safer than most others in this city. Gunning me down isn’t gunning another cop, Minnnka. It’s executing a Malone. There are rules about this, and no gangster with half a brain is gonna aim my way and risk Felix’s wrath. I’m insulated, so don’t worry so much.”
“And Fletch?” she insists. “Is he insulated, too? Or am I gonna worry about the guy I’m trying really hard to be angry at?”
Beside me, his lips curl into a smile. Not his usual goofy expression the ladies are drawn to, but one that speaks of love. Appreciation. He’s copped Minka’s fire for weeks. Her rage. Her disdain. But hearing her speak now, when she doesn’t realize he’s listening, brings him the peace he’s been missing for too long.
“Fletch is safe as long as I’m with him. No one is gonna hurt us. And just as soon as I hang up this call, we’re gonna continue our case, catch a killer, and toss him behind bars. In forty-eight hours, you and I are gonna be in a penthouse suite in Manhattan, sipping champagne and messing up the sheets.”
She scoffs, brushing me off because she’s a prude during office hours. “I’m going to New York to testify against a murderer. This isn’t Jamaica 2.0.”
