We got out of the car and into the chill of the air, letting the New York winter grayness envelop us.
Even under the bandage, I could feel the wound prickle in the brisk air.
“It’s cold down by the water!” Claire said with a smile, her brown hair whipping over her face in thin tendrils.
We were in an industrial area down by the water, surrounded by factories and shipping containers.
Murder Central, Luke had called it once when we drove by.
I narrowed my eyes, thinking of the serial killer’s most recent targets. He — or she, I had to keep reminding myself — was after guys that looked just like Luke.
As much as I tried to bat it away, I couldn’t stop the thought from strangling me; the thought that he might be next.
I was the first to enter the factory. The feeling of profound loneliness settled on my shoulders as I took in the long, empty cement floor and the ancient-looking machinery dormant in the center.
Just when my mind began to wander to dark places, Claire spoke.
“You know, places like these would make for incredible event spaces. I could see this remodeled into a nightclub, with all the lights and glitter, and a DJ booth right up there!” she gestured to the machinery.
“You have quite the imagination,” I said, the corner of my mouth twitching into a grin. Maybe it was a good thing to have a partner that was a chatterbox. I thought it would chase away criminals, but instead, it chased away the loneliness.
“Me and my boo talk about opening a business all the time,” she said, plucking her flashlight out of its holster and waving it towards the wall. “But it’s mostly for his sake. I know I’m always gonna be a cop.”
Her flashlight shone on some grease spots streaking the walls.
“This is where they found the first body, right?” I asked.
“Yeah, the first one. A few months ago, before you got here.”
“And where did they find him?” I asked, a lump in my throat forming.
“Over here, near this pipe,” she said.
I walked over and merged my flashlight beam with hers. Our lights formed a Venn Diagram on some filthy-looking water pouring out from a large pipe in the wall.
“What did the detective say about finding him here? Did the killer just… dump him? Or did he, you know…”
I dragged my fingers across my throat, and they snagged on my bandage.
Uneasiness turned over in my gut.
“Detective said they dumped the body here, and they killed him somewhere else.”
I nodded slowly, feeling a little shaken for the first time in a long time.
But there was no way I was going to show Claire that.
I asked her a few more questions about the body while we continued our sweep around the factory. It was fruitless; I knew that right after they found the body, the station would have had every forensic specialist in the city swarming this place. Every tiny detail would have already been collected, examined, and stored safely in a thick plastic baggie.
The obvious question to anyone that wasn’t a cop would be, “What do you expect to find?” But to us, the police, we weren’t looking to find anything. Not really. We were looking for things that were out of place. Details that seemed off. Sometimes we learned more about a crime from what we didn’t see than what we did — like we were looking at an inkblot test, focusing on the negative spaces.
I swished my flashlight past the machinery and walked along the side of the wall, taking peeks into the office spaces.
The tingling intensified. Something wasn’t right.
“Hey, Big Guy! You about ready to head out of here?” Claire called, her voice echoing in the big space.
“Give me a minute,” I called back.
I was close to something; I could feel it.
My eyes zipped along the bottom edge of the room, and I noticed the shadow of the flashlight looked a tiny bit different when it shone at the base of the door nearby. It was like something shiny was stuck under there, fragmenting the light into small, brilliant spears.
“There’s nothing over there — crime scene was way over here,” Claire said.
“I think I found something,” I called back.
I got on my hands and knees, then peeked under the door.
Wedged in the thin crack between the base of the door and the floor was a small metal button-looking thing.
Claire appeared at my side, dropping to her belly.
“The fuck is that?” she asked in a hushed whisper.
“That’s what I thought.”
I stood up, looked around, and found a long, thin piece of metal nearby. Then I was back at the door, sliding it underneath.
“Don’t touch it; it might have fingerprints on it and shit!” Claire said quietly as if the button might be able to hear us.
“I won’t,” I said as I finagled the strip of metal this way and that, trying to dislodge the button.
“You got it!” Claire cried.
We watched as the spherical metal thing whizzed across the smooth concrete floor as if it was prey trying to escape us.
I chased it until it ran out of momentum, trying not to touch it.
When it finally rolled on its shiny side, I could make out what it was:
A stud. An identical stud to the ones in my studded Dom outfits.
“Luke?” I called into the house as I stepped through the threshold.
There was a mumbled cry from the top of the stairs.
It put me on high-alert; Luke sounded like he was sick or tired or… or in trouble!
I raced up the stairs, taking two at a time and scanned our house.
“Luke, where are you, babe?”
“I’m in here,” he said.
His voice sounded like it came from our bedroom.
I stepped inside and saw him curled up in his blanket, poking at his glowing phone.
The sigh of relief that I pushed out of my lungs had never felt so good.
“I’m so happy to see you,” I said, taking
