Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
“Detective Copeland?” He looked over his shoulder and stood. It was the cop who’d arrived first on scene after the anonymous tip that had called this in. He was obviously shaken but was managing to hold it together well. Zach was impressed. The city saw plenty of shootings—mostly related to drug crimes—the occasional home invasion, lots of family trouble, but a murder like this was a rare occurrence. Then again, he suspected you could see something of this nature once a week and still never be desensitized to it. And he had to believe that was a good thing.
“Dr. Harvey’s here.”
He nodded, though he couldn’t remember the last time Dr. Harvey showed up at a scene—she usually waited for the body to be delivered to her—but Zach understood why she was there. Again, highly unusual crime scene. Highly disturbing. Slow footsteps sounded on the wood stairs, and a few seconds later Hamilton County’s coroner entered the room, dressed in a black cocktail dress, with a red wrap draped over her shoulders. Her heels were covered in disposable booties. She’d obviously just left a social event. He walked toward her. “Doctor.”
Her eyes shifted to the victim momentarily. Dr. Harvey was an attractive older woman who carried an air of class. He’d seen her at a few city functions and knew it was especially true when she was in a dress and heels. But it was also the case when she was wearing her usual workday scrubs. “Detective Copeland.” She gave him a small smile that disappeared as quickly as it’d arrived. “Anonymous tip called this in?” She moved past him to where the body lay, and he followed.
“Yeah. Burner phone apparently. No way to trace it. The call came in earlier tonight, and Officers Burke and Alexander came to check it out.”
“Identity?”
“Not yet.” There had been nothing at the scene to provide an identity. No purse or identification. He’d start working on that right away and check missing persons reports as soon as he got back to the office. He’d find out her name. He made a silent promise to the unknown woman. It was something he could return to her when everything else had been stolen.
Dr. Harvey greeted Dolores, who was packing up her supplies, and then leaned around the body, perusing it from every angle. “This girl experienced hell on earth,” she murmured and then emitted a sigh. “I’d like to get her exam underway tonight. She’s waited long enough.” She bent closer behind the girl, getting a look at her hands still wrapped in shackles. “You’re not alone anymore,” she said quietly, before she straightened, spearing Zach with her direct stare. He saw anger there, empathy. They were the eyes of a woman who had seen too much death where death did not belong. Too much suffering when there was no comfort to be given. “Come see me in the morning. I’ll have some answers for you.”
* * *
Rain drummed on his windshield as he drove back to the Criminal Investigative Section (CIS) building where the city’s homicide detectives worked, the streets of Cincinnati rushing by in blurred shades of silvery gray. His mind rewound again to his very first week riding on his own after he’d been cut loose by his field training officer. He’d been assigned to guard the hospital room of a girl who’d escaped being chained in an abandoned warehouse for almost a year. Zach realized he was holding the steering wheel in a death grip and loosened his hands, taking one off the wheel and rolling his wrist, stretching his fingers. A fucking year she’d been held there, after suffering things so unthinkable that Zach still wondered how she’d survived with her sanity intact. He still thought about her sometimes at the oddest moments, and he wasn’t sure why, other than that it was the first time he’d truly understood what evil was and it had shocked him. Shocked him clear to his fucking soul. Her voice—shaking yet clear—the trauma and…fierceness in her eyes. Yes, he’d seen it and been humbled by it. It had hit him straight in his gut. She’d looked like a warrior, being wheeled into that hospital. Half dead. Still fighting. Josie. Josie Stratton. Her eyes had been large and dark. Haunted. He wondered if they still were. How could they not be?
Of course, that case had been closed, the perpetrator dead by a self-inflicted gunshot wound. Rest in hell, motherfucker. He couldn’t help bringing it to mind, though. It was the depravity, he guessed. He’d seen a lot—heard a lot from other officers too—since that day in the UC Medical Center, but nothing like the pure, unadulterated evil that had been perpetrated against Josie Stratton. Not until tonight.
He ran a hand over his short, damp hair as he entered the building and dried his hand on his jeans as he headed toward his desk. He heard the front door open and close and glanced back to see his partner, Jimmy Keene, lumbering in behind him. “Hey, man,” he greeted.