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Authors: Nicola Claire
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The words whispered on repeat inside my head. Not my words, but the sentiment was familiar. I understood doubt and uncertainty, fear and defeat. I stared in the face of human brutality on a daily basis. And it stared back. Unrepentant. Unapologetic. Slightly insane.
But why I would be dreaming of Carl's parting words to me was a mystery I currently didn't have the luxury of solving. There were simply too many unsolved crimes rattling around inside my head for me to devote any length of time on Carl's sometimes strange mutterings.
I reached over and picked the receiver up from my phone beside my bed. The reason why my dream had come to an abrupt halt with Carl's dire prediction on repeat; the incessant ringtone of my land-line.
"Keen," I managed to say without sounding too groggy and woefully sleep deprived.
"Got a hot one for you," came the slightly amused and undoubtedly not fooled voice of my sometimes partner Detective Sergeant Ryan Pierce.
"Sarge," I replied, sitting up fully and swinging my legs over the side of the bed. I didn't bother to look back at the warm sheets, regret was an emotion I couldn't spare at three-thirty on a winter's morning.
"Body found in the boot of a car," Pierce explained.
"And it's hot, why?"
"Because the car is burned out and the body along with it. Not to mention any evidence."
The sigh was impossible to contain.
"What do we know?" I asked, slipping my legs into yesterday’s trousers while I talked.
"Comms received a call about twenty minutes ago, anonymous and untraceable."
"You think it's the perp?"
"Too soon to tell, but the informant was brief in their description of events. 'Car fire on Curran Street, under the bridge.' That was it, then he hung up."
I sat down heavily on the side of my bed, a chill running through my body and making me shudder.
"Pretty visible location for a car fire," I commented, but my mind was reeling. I'd been near there, if not exactly at that location, several hours ago.
"The car's hidden from sight by a nice copse of Pohutukawa trees, residents nearby were all asleep when it occurred. No witnesses have come forward."
I ran a hand over my face trying to dislodge the fog of sleep, in the hopes it would also get rid of the gut clenching sensation that I was being played.
"OK," I finally managed to say. "I'll be there in fifteen."
"Good, I'll make sure coffee's waiting," Pierce shot back. The line clicked dead before I could reply.
I lifted my face and stared at the pale reflection in the mirror opposite. Dirty blonde sleep messed long hair, slightly puffy pale blue eyes and a washed out complexion making up the striking picture of a police detective surviving on too little sleep and too much coffee. Lately that had been a little too 'normal' for my liking.
But it's not like I didn't know what I was getting into when I became a cop. Daughter of a cop. Granddaughter of a cop. I only had myself to blame for where I currently was in my life.
I roughly flicked my hands through my hair and grabbed my shoulder holster and gun from the safe in the wardrobe, then threw on a jacket over the top. The only real saving grace of attending a crime scene at this hour was the cops on scene would all be equally as tired as me. Night shifts sucked. Being a detective on call sucked even more.
D
éjà vu set in on Jervois Road, by the time I turned my police issue unmarked sedan down Curran Street, and saw the flashing beacons of cop cars and the fire service up ahead, acid and bile were competing for attention inside my stomach. As I parked up behind Pierce's car and hauled myself to my feet, the smell of burned gasoline, plastics, metal and tarseal mixed in with the chemical stench of fire-fighting foam met my nose. And added a nice addition to the gut churning sensations currently making themselves at home deep down inside.
I stilled next to my closed car door and just took in the scene, conscious now that the location was
exactly
where I had met Tommy earlier tonight. A cold sweat graced my clammy skin, making me roll my shoulders to feel the familiar and comforting weight of my service weapon.
I took my time noting the fire service set-up, the police cars that dotted the perimeter, the crowd of busy-bodies cordoned off to the side and trying to snap pictures on their cellphones, the uniforms giving them all the evil eye. Until finally my gaze landed on the HEAT vehicle and that gut churning sensation plummeted to the soles of my feet instead.
I shouldn't have been surprised. Hell, I should have expected Pierce to have called them in, or the Firies themselves, but even without seeing who drove that vehicle I knew my night was only going to get worse.
And that was saying something, because my gut was telling me that this was no coincidence. Location and timing confirmed as much. Carl's voice in my head warning me to tread carefully completed the fucked up feeling clanging like alarm bells inside my mind.
"Hey," a deep and familiar voice said off to my side. I turned and found the smiling goatee bearded face of Ryan Pierce staring back at me, take-away coffee cup outstretched in his hand.
I took the offered beverage and sipped from the cup before I answered.
"Hey," was all he'd get back for now.
"Sorry to break into your beauty sleep, Keen, but this one needs your tender touch."
"How do you figure that?" I asked, glancing over and noting the shadows under Pierce's eyes as well. He'd been light on the sleep too, it seemed.
He scratched at his beard and looked over towards the car.
"You and fires, you've had your fair share," he commented with a shrug of his well defined shoulders.
"Would be nice to take a holiday from them from time to time," I muttered, starting in the direction of the main crime scene. "What else can you tell me?" I asked, before he could comment on my statement.
"HEAT's here, already started their side of the investigation."
I stopped in my tracks. "Before the investigating detective arrived on scene. Pierce," I said with a shake of my head, "you wound me."
"He was insistent," he shot back. "And said you wouldn't mind, that he has worked plenty of cases with you in the past and knows how you operate."
"And you fell for that?"
Pierce offered me a dazzling smile, one that he surely used in order to catch his wife Marie. I pitied the poor woman, Ryan Pierce was one hell of a walking testosterone package. Tall, big build, dark haired, wicked looking goatee and equally wicked looking glint in his chocolate brown eyes. He made even straight men turn and stare. How she put up with the covetous glances I did not know.
"You need a challenge, Lara. Damon Michaels is an ideal challenge."
I stared at him, unsure how to take this breach of our professional relationship. Ryan and I had worked together on and off for the past few months, while his partner, Harvey Stone, was under internal investigation for a case that threatened his family's safety, as well as Pierce's. It was a clusterfuck mixed up in a bigger clusterfuck, but Harvey Stone was not a bad man. And we all hoped it would get ironed out and he'd return to Pierce's side.
Pierce refused to permanently partner with anyone else until it was all resolved. And as I was suddenly without my partner and mentor too, we often ended up on the same cases together, temporarily assigned as partners. We'd gotten to know each other quite well, but even though we teased, neither of us had ever stepped over that invisible line into friendship.
The tone of his voice now made me think Pierce was ready for that move.
I was not.
"You slipped up, Pierce," I stated, starting to walk again in the direction of the burned out vehicle, and the firemen and police officers surrounding it. "Michaels could have compromised the scene by now and it's the last fucking thing I need."
"The scene's fine, Keen. He's only photographing for now. He knows not to touch until you're on site. Jesus, you need to lighten up. Do you really think I'd drop you in it like that?"
I balled my fists as the charred remains of the car came into clearer focus, then let a slow breath of air out releasing as much tension as I could in one go.
"Lack of sleep. Sorry," I muttered, watching two men with cameras circling the blackened remains of what had to be a medium sized sedan car, the boot lid popped, the windows shattered, the metal scorched to such a degree that recognising colour from this distance was impossible.
I felt Pierce's body warmth at my side as he came to stop next to me. He didn't say anything, just let me take in the scene for myself without influence from him for now.
I struggled to ignore the two men, both of them obviously part of HEAT's Fire Investigation division. The Hauraki Emergency Assistance Team was made up of three separate sections. Fire Investigation which examines and assesses fire related crimes; Fire Prevention which deals with chemical drug labs and the potential for explosions; and Fire Rescue which offers advanced trained rescue services above and beyond those normally found within the Fire Service itself. All three divisions are part of the New Zealand Fire Service, but work in conjunction with Police, Fire or Ambulance as required. They were specialists, and as such often had the arrogant and superior attitude to go with it.
One of those men currently photographing my scene right now was the epitome of said arrogance. I had a history with Damon Michaels, had worked with him on cases in the past, none of them at all pleasant. I closed my eyes briefly as I acknowledged that outright lie. Unpleasant was probably not the best word to describe my experiences with Michaels. Uncomfortable was better. I did not handle uncomfortable well. I certainly hadn't handled my interactions with the self-possessed and extremely cocky Damon Michaels well lately, in any case.
Without even realising it I had catalogued his physique; tall, maybe as tall as six foot something, dark curly black hair that hugged his earlobes and tickled the skin on the side of his neck. A smattering of stubble across chiselled cheeks, piercing dark brown eyes and thick, well shaped lips lifted in a perpetual smirk. He wasn't in uniform, but his companion, a guy I hadn't met before, was. Michaels wore faded jeans and a washed out blue suit jacket, the combination giving the appearance of someone who couldn't have given a fuck about fashion, but somehow managed to still look smoking hot while he did it.
No one should look good in jeans and a suit jacket. No one.
With effort I pulled my eyes off the sight of HEAT's head investigator and took in his sidekick. Tall, like Michaels, maybe slightly shorter, beach-blond hair with the obligatory day's worth of whiskers gracing his firm jaw and light blue eyes, which kept flicking back over to where Pierce and I stood. He looked intrigued. Probably new.
"What else can you tell me about the victim?" I said, breaking the silence between Pierce and myself, and finally,
finally
, returning my attention to the crime scene before me and not the presence of an impossibly handsome HEAT investigator in its midst.
"No ID, no identifying marks left visible. Male, approximately thirty, possibly Caucasian according to the ME."
I sighed internally. "And the car?"
"Late model Toyota Corolla sedan. We can't identify the VIN, no license plates attached. As soon as forensics get in there and decipher the vehicle ID number, we'll have more to go on."
I walked slowly forward, drawn to the scene, drawn to the inevitable, aware both HEAT investigators were watching my approach now, but my eyes were all for the boot compartment and what lay inside there.
The smell was more noticeable this close. Acrid, jarring, a foreign scent that would invade your clothes, seep into your pores, make itself at home on your skin, in your hair, down your throat. I took a sip of coffee and held the cup up to my nose, trying to mask the stench. I should have rubbed some menthol based Vaseline under my nostrils, but lack of sleep was lowering my guard.
I stood and stared at the charred remains of what once was a walking, talking, breathing human being. Burned flesh has a distinctive smell. It's wrong. I can't eat pork anymore, God alone knows how the HEAT guys manage it, but since my first 'crispy critter' roast pork makes me want to vomit.
My eyes stung from the suppressant foam used to kill the flames, the chemicals mixing with roasted human flesh and char-grilled vehicle. I swallowed, blinked back the sting and lifted my gaze to the HEAT investigators watching me.
"Michaels," I said in way of greeting.
He offered a lazy smile. "Detective Keen, a pleasure as always."
"Wherever you get your kicks," I muttered. "What can you tell me?"
His smile hadn't wavered, but a serious glint entered those dark eyes as he turned his attention back to the vehicle and sole occupant.
"A petrol based accelerant was used, but only in the rear part of the vehicle. The boot itself. It would have engulfed this part of the car," he used his long arm to pinpoint the area under question, "within seconds. The victim, if conscious, wouldn't have stood a chance. It probably took mere minutes for the rest of the vehicle to become fully involved. But I won't know more exact timing until I analyse debris and determine the correct mix of accelerant back at the lab."