“Cheat on your husband with your partner. I also heard about you breaking his arm when he outed you to the media.”
I cringe after hearing this part of my past come up. The rookie has been talking to some of the uniforms gossiping around the locker room.
“That’s none of your goddamn business.”
He frowns. “Devi, what you did was wrong, but I’m sorry it was the thing that caused your public humiliation.”
Jesus Christ, this asshole doesn’t know when to drop it.
I sigh, narrowing my eyes. “Don’t feel sorry for me. I did it to myself.”
“Still, you deserve forgiveness, friend.”
“Forgiveness is for those who deserve it.” I kneel examining the blood.”
“So, how did you end up being a detective in Tampa?”
My muscles tense as I glower at him. “The scandal was causing too much of a shitstorm through the department. The media wouldn’t stop harassing the department or me. So I moved to Tampa, and the department gave my ex a fat settlement along with paying his medical bills to keep him quiet.”
He shakes his head in disbelief. “You broke your husband’s arm while on duty. How are you still able to wear a badge?”
“I rescued a bunch of kids. The Brass wasn’t going to fire a hero cop who saved a group of kids from a sadistic cult. It’s bad press for them.”
With the media, you’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t.
He scratches his head. “Nice to know rules don’t count for shit if you’re a hero cop.”
I sigh in frustration at his comment. “And like the video shows, our victim tried to fight back. Jason, did you ever find out where he works?”
He nods. “I did. He was an executive with Horizon Oil.”
“Good, man. I already knew where he worked, just testing you. But, that explains the gun. A man like him would’ve had a lot of enemies these days, especially after that nasty oil spill a month ago. A pattern is forming now, four dead all of them worked for oil companies except the first Vic. We need to round up some local eco-activists the ultra-radicals.”
“Okay, but the first victim was not with the Oil Company. She was a hotel owner, so I don’t see the pattern here.”
“I think the first victim was a warm-up for the killer. You know, practice? But now, we got a pattern forming here.”
He crosses his arms. “Okay.”
“The victims after the first were with big oil corporations.”
“Hmm. Personally, I think it would be wise to stick to them being rich as the motive.”
My mouth moves into a flat line. “If the eco-terrorists angle proves to be a dead-end, then we stick to them being rich as the motive. However, seeing as the victims after the first were all big shit oil guys, we stick to the oil company angle.”
“How come no gunshots were reported in the area?”
“The loud music in the clubs would have masked the sound of a gunshot. Especially a small caliber.”
“Looks like the weapon is a Walther PPK 9mm.”
I smirk at him. “Well, somebody killed James Bond.”
He turns his head to the side. “I don’t get the reference.”
“You know, the Walther PPK? 007? His signature pistol?”
“Oh, I’ve never been into Bond films. Much less paid attention to the gun he used, and to be frank, I found them rather cliché and boring.”
What a lame-ass.
“Wow, not a fan of 007? That’s sad.”
“Lobos, the only thing sad, is the fact people call that a good movie.”
“Easy! Hating Mr. Bond is not a good start to our partnership.” The crime scene tech bags and labels the weapon and the shell casing to be sent off to ballistics. “Okay, here is what went down. The victim leaves the bar after wasting the hooker’s time, and he staggers to his car. He’s drunk off his ass and oblivious to his surroundings. The situation was perfect for Moonlight. Because while he is fumbling for his keys, the killer makes his move and garrotes him with the barbed wire. The victim hopelessly pulls out his gun, fires a shot out of panic, but he was too disoriented by blood loss and the booze to realize he was shooting into the ground. Alcohol mixed with a severed artery, our Vic was dumping buckets of blood. Basically, like it happened on the surveillance camera.” I peel off the latex gloves. “We need to get the location of those environmentalists. So we need to consult the Oracle.”
His eyebrow creases. “Oracle?”
“Yes, as in my laptop. The Oracle and I are good partners.”
Geez, Devi. Could you be a bigger dork right now?
I head to my car and tap the spacebar to take my laptop out of sleep mode. Rain pelts the roof of my car. “Welcome to the sunshine state.”
He laughs. “Maybe the Sunshine State title is a running joke.”
I log on to the police database and type in known activists on the FBI’s terrorist watch list. It displays 6000 results. Okay, let’s narrow this search down to Florida and Tampa. Otherwise, we’ll be at this till hell freezes over. It changes to 5 results.
“Well, looks like we’re doing a bit of door-knocking tonight, Jason.”
He exhales sharply. “That sounds… riveting.”
“Okay, here is a lesson from me, Homicide is not all kicking down doors and arresting serial killers. There are dull parts too. Like this little adventure, we’re about to embark on.” I stare at the computer. “Let’s see who’s first… ah, Reginald Macready. He was arrested for possession with intent to sell. Indecent exposure to an oil spokeswoman, and he was arrested on suspicion of plotting to blow up the pipelines. The case was dropped due to lack of evidence. He currently lives in Tampa on Mariner
