Chapter 2
I don’t answer him.
“Your generosity is overwhelming,” he says, grunting.
I hear the sarcasm in his biting tone, as I stand and head to the closet for my raincoat. “We both need to go.”
“Is it because of my pink hair?” Steve says, coming up behind me, puncturing my safe space with a hand on my back.
I turn and gaze in his direction, trying not to make eye contact. “What?”
“My hair? Is it too weird?”
“No. Your hair isn’t the problem.”
Steve fingers his Justin Bieber bangs. He is young enough to be my nephew. “It’s my favorite asset,” he says, trying to lighten the mood.
“It’s not that.”
“Then what?” A pause, then, “Are you embarrassed to be seen with me in public?”
I hear my father whispering in the back of my mind, spewing his venomous hate and ignoranceFaggot. Loser. Waste of life. You won’t amount to anything.
I grab my raincoat and climb into it.
Turning to leave, grabbing my car keys on the kitchenette counter, I feel Steve’s hand on my arm. “Please, Jack. Give us a chance.”
“I’m going to be late,” I say, pulling away from him and shutting off the fan and closing and locking the balcony doors.
On my way past Steve, I turn off the light and show him the way out of my apartment.
I lock the door and head down the carpeted corridor to the stairwell, Steve following a mile behind me, his footfalls heavy.2
There is no warning when the charcoal-gray sky crackles to life with thunder, and a drumbeat of rain thrashes me in the face.
I park in the gravel driveway of the apartment complex, next to the chief’s SUV, and jog up the steep ramp to the front door where I notice a group of college-aged girls standing on the sidewalk crying and hugging each other.
Deputy Alan Hawkins, on the wrong side of fifty, looks cold and tired, his clothes damp from the rain. He is manning the door as I approach the building. He nods at me. He is bulky around the middle, and most of the hair on his head is white, but he dyes his mustache black.
“Prepare yourself before you go in there,” he says, standing statue still like a window-dressed mannequin.
We make brief eye contact, but my vision is hazy and glossy with rain and sleep; I hunker against the driving elements as I continue through the door he holds open for me.
Water sprays everywhere as I shake my head like a dog in the bright foyer and wipe my hands dry on my uniform pants underneath my raincoat.
The climb up to the second floor feels long, and I’m breathing heavily when I reach the landing where I follow the chatter of voices of my superior and another rookie standing outside the last door at the end of the hallway.
Chief Barton is ordering the CSI photographer to photograph the room from a different angle
When I poke my head around the corner, I see the gargoyle silhouette of the chief of police behind a frosted glass screen dividing the living and dining area as if he were directing a photo shoot for Home Design magazine.
I clear my throat to steal his attention.
He turns, wide-eyed, as if my presence is a surprise and he isn’t expecting me. I watch him limp toward me, and holding out a pair of rubber booties for me to slip on over my work boots. “Watch out for the trail of blood splatter,” he says, gesturing at the breadcrumb dots of dark fluid on the hardwood floor.
“What happened here?” I ask, observing the claustrophobic five hundred square foot apartment. I don’t like being in small spaces with other people. Everybody makes me nervous, and the noise of the camera clicking over and over drills inside me like a chattering of teeth. Sweat trickles in the warm spot beneath my uniform collar, and my palms are clammy.
“That’s what we’re here to find out,” he says, and as I step further into the apartment, I can detect tobacco smoke in the air. The sharp smell tickles my nostrils. “We’ve already spoken to the landlord. He didn’t know anything.”
“Who called it in?” I ask.
“A friend of the victim. Sorority girl named Callie. Redhead. Pretty little thing.”
“I passed a group of young girls outside on my way in.”
“They’re still here?” The chief sighs. “I told them I’d check in with them at the sorority later today. There’s nothing else they can do right now.”
“Have you notified the vic’s parents?” I ask.
“We’re working on it.”
“What did the girl’s friend have to say?”
“Callie told me she tried calling the victim but couldn’t get through to her. So she walked over here from the sorority house to check on her. When she arrived, she came across her friend dead on the floor.” He sighs, shakes his head, visibly shaken.