“No. I thought you had it,” she said as she looked up at him confusingly.
“I did. It’s gone. Have you seen anyone at my desk?”
“No.”
Dontae picked up his desk phone, quickly dialing. “Hi Hollie, I’m missing the file from that suicide yesterday. It seemed that some- “He pauses for a second, listening. You got to be kidding!” He slams the phone down so hard it causes Jessi to jump.
“What’s up?” she asked. Dontae’, ignoring the question, jumped up and headed for the chief’s office. Jessi hurried behind him.
The chief’s office was in the corner of the bullpen. Easy to locate by the big emblem on the glass window. Dontae didn’t even bother knocking; he pushed the door open and voiced his displeasure. “Why did you give Marcartney and Farreti my case!? “Dontae’ demanded.
The large black man sitting behind the desk in an office filled with sports memorabilia, mainly baseball, peered over his glasses directly at Dontae’. His coffee-stained teeth crept from under his dark black lips as he made a face so angry you would have thought murder was the next move.
“Don’t come in here like you in charge son! Who the fuck do you think you are?” Chief Wilcox wasn’t intimidated by Dontae’ outburst, but he sure was angry.
“Me and Jessi, I mean Mason, were the detectives on the scene. That’s our case!”
“And now the case is closed. You’re homicide! Your asses weren’t supposed to be there anyway. Marcarney and Faretti handled it. It was a publicity stunt. Case closed!”
“Wait? What?” Dontae asked, baffled at what was coming out of the chief’s mouth.
“The crazy bitch pretended to commit suicide to get attention for her new album. Next thing you know, one of these silly ass-holes will be fucking a koala to get on the view.”
“What the hell are you talking about? No, no, no, we were there,” Dontae’ insisted.
“Yea and we saw the body. I'm sure she was dead chief,” Jessi added.
“Yeah, and what makes you an expert?” Wilcox raises one eyebrow. Jessi nonchalantly steps back.
Dontae’ steps in and defends Jessi. “My 20 years makes me an expert, and I assure you she was dead.”
“All prosthetics and make up. There was no body. No real one at least. I got the D.A. working up charges to sue her ass right now.”
“That can’t be right,” Dontae’ said to himself. Was he crazy? Did he really mistake a dummy for a real body? There’s no way. Right?
“It’s an open and shut case Wade. Leave it alone! Now get out of my office. I already got too much shit to do.” The Chief waved his hand dismissively. Dontae wanted to stay and argue, but knowing it was a moot point, the two walked out.
“There’s no way this was faked. I know a dead body when I see one,” Dontae’ said as he rubbed his hand over his face. “We need to find the so-called prosthetics.”
Peggy Freeman, an older black woman, was parked at the front counter of the evidence room. A position she had held for the last twenty-four years. With less than one year left until her retirement, she was out of fucks to give when it came to needy cops demanding anything from her.
“Peggy, my main girl, I need to see the evidence that was logged in from the Rochelle case yesterday.” He gave her his brightest smile, one she did not return. Instead, she types the case name into her computer. She turns and heads to the back of the evidence room without a word, returning with a small box.
“Here you go. Sign this,” She demanded with her voice raspy due to years of heavy smoking as she tossed Dontae’ a sign-in sheet. While signing his name, he notices that there are no other names listed on the sheet. He slides Peggy the sheet, and she hands him the box. Removing the lid, he’s shocked at what he sees. The box is filled with pictures of a mannequin. Turning to Peggy, Dontae’ asks, “Where’s the rest of it?”
“All I have is what’s in the box,” Peggy countered.
“No, there should be a note, an ID, and bagged black soot,” Dontae’ insisted
“I said I only have what in the damn box. I just store it; you sign in, you sign out. If it’s not in there, it wasn’t signed in,” Peggy growled.
“Woah. So, the officer didn’t sign it in. You think he sold it or something?” Jessi asked Dontae’.
“I don’t think so. Look at these pictures. This is not the same scene.” He hands Jessi the box. She goes through the pictures.
“Hell no. Look at this shit! That’s a dummy. What I saw crashed into that car was not this,” Jessie shouted.
Dontae’ turns and looks at Peggy. “What's the name of the officer that checked this in?”
With a heavy sigh, she types on her computer. “Harnando Vasquez.”
“Thanks.”
With their questioned answered, Dontae’ and Jessi head outside to her car.
“So, we are going to work the case anyway right?” Jessi asked.
“We’re going to find out what the hell is going on.” Dontae’ replied.
“Well, I haven’t found the language yet or anything that looks close. I did manage to find Adonis Sterling in the criminal database. Nothing major. A misdemeanor for weed possession, but I did get an address. It’s back on my desk.”
“Ok great. Text it to me and I’ll head that way. I need you to stay here and keep your eyes and ears open. Hide the discs for now then take them home. Scan them for anything that looks funny and take notes.”
“Okay, I’ll play it cool. I’ll look for Mr. Vasquez and try to find that dummy that’s in the pictures. The thing is, what happened to the real body? When Rochelle starts missing tour dates, what then?”
“One thing at a time. Keep me posted on what you find, and I'll do the same.” Dontae’ suggests. Jessi turned to go back, but Dontae’ stopped her mid-step.
“Jessi, be careful.
