“The colonel and I have searched them both.”
I sniffed. “It’s surprising how often people miss essential information when it’s right under their noses—”
“Quinlan!” Colonel Englert intercepted us fifty meters down the corridor, his hair and uniform gray as the station’s walls,
Detective Conan adjusted his fedora and surveyed the broken glass scattered throughout the flowerbed. At some point last night, an intruder had broken into the Westfield home through this window… supposedly. Nothing had been taken, and the couple living there hadn’t seen anyone.
Conan breathed in through his nose, sorting the area’s scrambled scents.
I slam the folder shut on my desk.
“Nothing useful?” Detective Rowe asks as he hands me a mug of coffee.
I take a sip, hoping it will provide some mental clarity. “It’s like everyone in that bank had a blindfold on.”
“Detective Williams?” I turn to see the patrol officer manning the front desk walking into the bullpen,
My detective partner, Monica, was anything but optimistic. Her dark eyebrows were always arched above calculating eyes, and her lips were always set in a frown. She even refused to wear her hair down at work because she thought it made her look
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Frank the Pig Detective shuffled papers on his desk while his brother Bob studied the bookcase.
Wonder what kind of mood Bob’s in today?
Frank adjusted a paper that didn’t really need adjusting, and sighed. Before the Big Bad Wolf fiasco, he, Bob,
“All I mean is, one of us has got to make pretend niceties or they won’t like us.” Friedrich crouched down beside Aloysia in the nursery of the kidnapped child.
Aloysia did not bother to contain her eye roll. She had insisted
The first thing I saw when the wool sack was yanked off my head, once my eyes adjusted to the light, was the beautiful woman sitting next to me. She blinked in confusion, squinted at me, then grimaced. There went the one bright spot in my
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Since their arrival in Engine 26, Girard Avenue Northeast had descended into chaos. Beyond the hulking pumper and unraveling hoses, onlookers had gathered at the perimeter established by the DCFD to watch the Brentwood colonial burn. Justine Buchowski was rounding out her initial site survey,
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Lazy, swinging jazz filtered in my window from the music school on the floor below my office. I swirled my glass, listening to how the clinking ice joined the quick staccato melody from the saxes and the rain outside. Every once in a while, a rumble of thunder or bright flash of lightning added some excitement to my personal concert.
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Officer Ward pulled up to the house. Danielle’s car sat in the driveway behind Taylor’s SUV. Coincidence? Might make his job easier—two birds, one stone—but he dreaded the coming conversation… or confession. Too close to this case, he cursed himself for not asking the chief to make this call.
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I hit play on Officer Chase’s bodycam footage. The camera dipped as the officer knelt by a young woman sprawled on the roadside, her legs tangled in the wrecked tandem bicycle. An ambulance siren blared in the distance.
Blood seeped through her long blonde hair. Her t-shirt was the vivid orange of the
“Oh, dear! You simply don’t understand! If you let this girl roam free, the crime spree will never end. I fear for my life.”
Officer Luddick released a long sigh as he tried to maintain a neutral expression. He despised when anthropomorphic creatures came into the precinct. Last week, a wild-haired man-cub with his
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