Harper stood and surveyed her crime scene. “Don’t they all?”
Two
Detective Sergeant Luka Jericho watched from beyond the police barricades at the entrance to the alley. He angled himself so that he was behind one of the halogen work lights CSU had brought in; even if Harper glanced in his direction she wouldn’t see him.
She’d done a decent job so far, first making certain the scene was clear of any potential danger, then establishing an adequate perimeter and dispatching the uniforms to start canvassing for witnesses—not that anyone from the Towers would voluntarily cooperate with the police, but you could always hope. Besides, if the case ever went to court, you never wanted to give the opposing attorney grounds to suggest that the police had missed something like an eyewitness, opening the door to reasonable doubt.
Maggie followed the gurney with the woman’s corpse, now wrapped in a sterile sheet inside a body bag. She motioned for her team to continue as she stopped and turned to Luka.
“How’d she do?” he asked.
“Good,” Maggie answered, clearly uncomfortable with playing the role of proctor. “Asked all the right questions, even made a tentative identification, despite the fact that there was no purse, wallet, ID or phone on the body.”
Luka arched an eyebrow at that. “It was someone Harper knew, then?”
“Hard to say, her face was really brutalized, but Harper recognized a tattoo belonging to a sex-trafficking victim she’d arrested during Vice operations.” The disdain that filled Maggie’s face had nothing to do with the fact that her victim was a prostitute. Rather, Luka understood that it was aimed at the men who’d forced her onto the street and the Vice cops who insisted on treating her like a criminal, not a victim.
“You know that bringing them in off the street is the best way to offer services and a way out without their pimps interfering,” he said. They’d had this discussion too many times to count.
“Except the police always attach a price by asking these women—mostly girls—who have already had so much taken from them, to turn on their pimps, testify against them, help you do your jobs for you. Never mind the men who buy their services—”
“We charge the johns as well—”
“Yeah, a summons. One that costs less than a speeding ticket,” she flared.
“The johns can’t lead us to the traffickers, not with everything arranged online. That’s why we need the girls to help.” He wasn’t even sure why they were having this debate—again. He hadn’t worked Vice in over a decade; Luka’s job was violent crimes, which usually translated to homicide. “Look, I’m sorry this girl ended up on the street—”
“Harper said she was seventeen, Luka.” Maggie’s face was flushed, whether by the August heat or her equally sweltering emotions, he wasn’t sure. “Seventeen. She had her whole life ahead of her.” She made a noise deep in her throat as if swallowing a sob. “Tossed out like garbage.”
“We’ll do everything we can, Maggie. Doesn’t matter that it’s Harper’s first case as lead, I’ll make sure—”
Her glare blazed brighter than the halogen lights surrounding them. “See that you do. She deserves your best.”
He nodded, a solemn vow. “Call me when you get an ID confirmed.”
“I will.” She slung her camera case higher up onto her shoulder. “You want to make the notification or should I?”
Usually the coroner’s investigator notified the family of a loved one’s death. But Luka preferred to be there for cases under his jurisdiction. Not only because it was often a family member or someone intimately involved in the victim’s life who was responsible for their death, but also because seeing the family’s faces, hearing them talk about their loved one’s life, all helped Luka to better understand the victim. For him, that was vital in forming an understanding of the crime.
“I’ll do it. With Harper.” Death notifications were the most difficult part of the job, and he knew Harper wouldn’t like it, but this was her case now. The dead girl belonged to her.
He’d fought for Harper’s promotion—she’d passed all her exams with flying colors, but several high-ranking officers had questioned her attitude. Luka had interceded and the brass had grudgingly added her name to the promotions list, assigning her to Luka’s squad, warning him that any problems Harper created would be his to solve.
“She’s ready,” Maggie said, effortlessly reading his expression.
“I hope so,” he murmured. Maggie joined her team in the coroner’s van while Luka donned booties and gloves. Then he stepped past the barricade and entered the alley. Harper had been crouching, sketching the crime scene, but quickly stood when she saw him.
“Sir. They just removed the body.” She sounded abashed, as if she’d already made a mistake. “I didn’t want to delay—”
“Of course not.” He nodded his approval, hoping she’d relax and perform like the competent investigator he knew her to be.
Luka still remembered his first case as lead. A homeless man’s burnt remains had been found in an oil drum in an abandoned warehouse down by the river. With all forensics destroyed it had seemed like the kind of case that might never be closed. It had taken him months of painstaking investigation, widening his circle of suspects until he’d eventually determined that five high school kids from Cambria Preparatory Academy, an exclusive private school across the river, just outside city limits, had taken a “bum-bashing” spree too far. Despite his meticulously documented case, the DA had declined to prosecute on the murder, instead allowing all five to plead out to lesser charges. Justice often had little to do with the practice of law, Luka had learned, the lesson driving him to work even harder.
Shaking away the bitter memory, he told Harper, “Give me the bullet.”
“Yes, sir.” Harper used her phone to access the department’s secure cloud account and pulled up photos of their victim in situ, before the body was moved. “We have an unknown female, found at approximately 3:26 a.m. by patrol officers after
