21 Weeks: Week 1 Read online

assessment. And she wasn’t wrong to be overly cautious. Despite the fact investigations were meant to be confidential, things said off-cuff at a crime scene had a way of coming back to bite you in the ass on the stand.

  “The counter is four and a half foot high,” Baxton said. “And the vic is only five-five. The shooter would have to have leaned over the counter to shoot him where he did.”

  “Not that far-fetched for a robbery.”

  “No,” Baxton conceded. “And the close range would explain the gunshot residue on the victim. He’s covered in it.”

  “What else?” Beck asked.

  “There are smaller points of entry around the main entry point. Some kind of fragments.”

  “Could it be build-up? Petty criminals aren’t really the types to keep their guns clean.”

  “It’s possible.” Baxton nodded. “Also, his nose was bleeding.” From the way she glanced toward the body, it was clear that was the main point of contention with Baxton’s single gunshot hypothesis.

  “What could have caused that?”

  “It’s possible it came from his head hitting the floor. But it would have taken a hard hit, and that’s an anti-fatigue mat he’s standing on, pretty padded, and he really didn’t have that far to fall.”

  “Is that a short joke?”

  “It’s scientifically accurate.” Baxton looked to her notes on the clipboard, and Beck realized how good it was going to be to work with her again. Other detectives might find Baxton’s disinclination for guesswork trying, but Beck was perfectly happy to form her own theories, and was frankly glad there was no one to immediately argue against her.

  That was, of course, assuming she could keep her new position for more than a day.

  “Any idea why else it might bleed?” Beck realized, at once, she was asking too much.

  “I’ll know when I get him back to the lab,” Baxton said.

  “Have you cleared the body?”

  “Yeah, I’m done. Go ahead.”

  “Thanks,” Beck uttered as she backed in the direction of the counter.

  Toeing around the evidence markers CSU had placed to mark blood spatter, she lowered down in the tight quarters behind the counter with Mr. Basu. Not her first dead body - far from it - it was, it occurred to her, the first for which she was partly responsible. Before, it was her job to see everything else at the scene, to find the drugs, or the guns, or the money that was never hidden as well as the dead man thought, to chase after his living accomplices. Justice for the victim was left in the hands of someone else.

  The gravity of that stilling the air around her, Beck grew warmer inside her jacket, and wiped the back of her hand across her forehead as she scanned the scene. Weapon in reach, blood - too much blood - it looked like so many other acts of violence she had witnessed in her lifetime. One could always know, she’d learned some years before, if a person was beyond saving by the amount of blood. The pool beneath Mr. Basu creating a full-body outline, even the witness had to have known this man stood no chance.

  Gaze moving to the dead man’s eyes, Beck jolted slightly when one stared back. Mr. Basu’s right eye focused forward, as expected, it hit Beck right around ankle level. His left, however, crossed upward, watching Beck as she took in the tear tracks that cut across his cheeks, proof of the pain the man suffered alone in his last moments.

  Certain it was all documented - from the crossed eye to the paths of his tears - Beck moved along, eyes trailing Mr. Basu’s arm, crooked up next to his head. Not unusual for a dead man to have his guard up, unless the perp was, at one point, aiming for the victim’s head, it was still a strange position in which to find Mr. Basu.

  “So…” Flinching slightly, Beck watched Williams appear over the countertop. “Ms. Cain comes here every morning for a newspaper and coffee. She says Mr. Basu is a nice guy. Friendly when she comes in. Otherwise keeps to himself. Everybody seems to like him. That’s all she knows.”

  Nodding in response, Beck dropped her eyes back to the darkness beneath the counter. “Do you have a flashlight?”

  “Hey. Allen, right?” Williams caught a uniformed officer passing by.

  “Yeah.”

  “Could I borrow your flashlight?”

  Exchange not nearly as quiet as she had hoped, Beck glanced back to Baxton, glad to see her nose still buried in her notes as Williams handed the flashlight over the counter.

  “Thanks.”

  Crafted mostly out of cheap plywood, the counter’s internal structure proved sturdy enough as Beck flicked on the light. Steel supports every two feet, they ran the width of the countertop from front to back, moving down the base to bolt into the floor. Looking to the shotgun’s barrel, perched on the shelf next to her shoulder, Beck followed its most likely trajectory across empty space, watching the dark dent appear in a steel support as the light bounced off it.

  “Got something?”

  Thumbing off the light, Beck stood. Scanning the scene one last time, she fixated on the display of sunglasses two feet from her position, the counter card advertising chewing gum at arm’s length, both perfectly positioned, despite the seeming chaos all around them.

  “I guess we’ll have to wait for forensics.” Moving out from behind the counter, she met Baxton’s curious gaze across the room as she returned the flashlight to Officer Allen’s hand.

  “As soon as we get that video, we may not need forensics,” Williams stated.

  “Probably not,” Beck agreed.

  Store suddenly too stuffy to breathe, she went past Williams and Officer Allen through the cluttered crime scene and out into the unrelenting brutality of the sun.

  “What are you looking for out here?” Williams trailed after her, curious, Beck suspected, of his new partner’s methods. Heat starting to overwhelm her, Beck could no longer endure the pageantry.

  “That’s not regulation.” Williams eyed the tank top she wore beneath her jacket as she slipped it off.

  “Are you serious?”

  “No.” He laughed, and, sincerely worried about their chances of getting along for a moment, Beck gave him a passing glare as she folded the offending garment over her arm and took out her cell. “Who are you calling?”

  “I’ll tell you if you really want to know. But you probably don’t.”

  Warning backing Williams off a few steps, Beck knew he was still watching her every move as she tapped her contact and put the phone to her ear.

  “Dougie?” she said in response to the groggy ‘Hello,’ realizing she was waking him from some serious REM. She should have known she would be. Her friend didn’t exactly keep bankers’ hours. Though, Beck suspected he’d be a lot more lucrative if he did.

  “Beck? Girl, why you callin’ me so early?”

  “I need a favor,” she said.

  “It can’t wait ’til noon?”

  “Not if you love me.”

  Sigh from the other end of the line all the proof she needed he did, it was also clear the fact was a real inconvenience to Dougie at the moment. “What is it?”

  “I’m at Wooley’s Grocery. It’s at 486…”

  “I know the place.”

  “There’s a video feed going off-site. Do you think you could-?”

  “You’re going to wake me up and insult me by asking that question?” Dougie returned. “When do you need it?”

  “As soon as you can get it. I only need the last couple of hours.”

  “All right. But if I’m gonna stay up for this, it’s gonna be a big one you owe me.”

  “Understood,” Beck said.

  “Same email as before?”

  “Yeah. Same one.”

  “All right. I’ll have it to you ASAP. And, Girl?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You ever plannin’ on comin’ around again?”

  “Soon.” Beck’s smile softened. “I promise.”

  “I’m gonna hold you to it. Logging off.”

  “Bye, Dougie.” Beck ended the call.

  Williams wait
ing as she turned around - for explanation, maybe - for a moment, Beck really missed Trevor. She knew what this was going to be. A clean slate. Starting from scratch. It was also a complete unknown. With Trevor, she’d had inklings from the very beginning he was a ‘whatever it takes’ kind of cop. Williams had given Beck few signs he was anything other than by the book. It hadn’t occurred to her until that moment how difficult it might be to meld her usual way of doing things with a new department and a new partner.

  “What do you want to do now?” Williams asked.

  Not sure how serious he was about keeping an eye on her, Beck suspected it was something she would find out soon enough.

  “Why don’t you take me back and show me where that terrible coffee is?” she suggested.

  Staring blankly at her for a moment, Williams appeared to be trying to determine if she was kidding. “I think we’ve got a little work left to do here.”

  “I think we should wait for the video,” Beck said, and, though he was no less bewildered by her proclamation, Williams conceded to it with a shrug.

  “You going to be the one to explain to Martinez why we left the crime scene so fast?”

  “If it comes to that,” Beck said.

  “Whatever you want to do. I’ll try it your way.”

  Williams’ agreeableness a little too agreeable, Beck had a feeling this was part of the initiation, that both Williams and Martinez were giving her some slack to see if she’d hang herself.

  Hearing Williams’ feet padding the ground to catch up as she turned for the car, Beck glanced over when he made it up beside her. “But you are spot-on with the coffee situation. That stuff at the station is beyond undrinkable.”

  No surprise there. It always was. Half