0450, Friday, The Third-A

Barely able to keep my eyes open I reach for the A/C handle cranking it further up, pushing all the way towards blue. Cool air smashes into my face, like a brick, providing some much needed energy boost. Not daring to take my eyes off it, I choose to concentrate on the road driving to our next checkpoint, rather than the car temperature. 24 hour shifts were not my cup of tea, though i've never met anyone who says they actually like working them. Slightly dozing off next to me, my partner's eyes dance between open and closed, still able to watch my every movement. He leans his elbow against the doorframe, head resting on hand, shifting the rest of his body along with it. Were all men so cute when they sleep? Behind us towering in my rear view, trees stand covering each bit of empty space. Morning sun began to rise brilliant orange rays peeking out from them, barely able to be seen from full branches, covering surrounding villas, taking away any signs of life.

It was already nearly 5am with temperatures reaching well into the 80's before the sun had even fully risen. Deciding on a point I flip the blinkers on pulling over to a hidden point aside the road backing into trees. Shade from forest green needles helped control temperatures, slightly bringing them down into a manageable 70 degrees.

Pushing my seat back, I pull the tablet towards me, triggering the radar system, red nails clicking against its screen. My nails barely came above my fingertips but I liked to keep them tidy.

Back leather seats were smooth under my small amount of exposed skin. Heat resistant covers made them easier to manage. I had managed to convince the department that it was a needed purchase, however they had only bought two of them. One for the driver and the passengers. This due to the fact that the back seats were meant for prisoners or POI, more commonly used in a DUI case or breaking up a civil dispute, especially in the religious town.

Glass separated back from front seats for our protection of course, although it was hardly ever needed. Cup holders were taken by a tablet and keyboard on a stand that stretched to either side of the car, mostly to the passengers side. Tinted windows covered my face as well as my partners. Lower below the laptop rested the in unit radio used to page and communicate with headquarters. The only thing normal was our center console with the addition of lights and sirens switches or buttons marked as such. Our particular car was only a classic insert key, nothing automatic, you saw a few of them every now and then, but they weren't really popular. Our vehicle, however, was undercover, lights in the mirror above our head. Black leather doesn't mix with the blazing California sun.

"It's too fucking hot." I complained.

I hated silence.

I shift more in my seat, watching each number as it pops up on the radar gun, car after car. Nobody here ever went anything five over. It was quite boring.

I run my hand across my forehead, the sticky sweat clinging to the fabric of my uniform. A/C already blasting at its maximum capacity made me urge to roll down the windows or take the vehicle for a spin.

"Not a Cali girl?"

His voice came from my partner sitting next to me. He had a cup in hand downing nearly the entire 34 ounce bottle of liquid within minutes of getting it. He was like a fucking child, then again in my experience all men his age were. Men didn't fully mature until 43, he was almost there.

"I'm from fucking Montana." I reply

I had a bad mouth.

"Watch your mouth, you're in rural California, the Catholics will get your job rookie." he warned, jokingly

This was a normal conversation between the two of us, we shared a bond closer to siblings than lovers.

I roll my eyes, half tempted to slap him across his face.

"First I'm older than you and you damn well know I have more experience too."

"But you have only been to my department for like a year. You are the last hire so you by denomination are the rookie of the department." he concluded

"Look, that shouldn't matter, anyways, I've stuck to the midwest in our surrounding states, that's it, plus what makes you think I'm the rookie?" I ignore him answering his earlier question with another question.

"Pft, you are the last one to join the force making you the rookie until someone takes your place."

"That isn't how it works you know."

"I bet you're fun at parties." he grumbles, completely changing the topic.

"Wouldn't know, I don't go to any."

"What?" he exclaims, pausing to emphasize the motion "what on earth do you do for fun!"

"Why live on earth when you can visit hell?"

"Maybe not dressing like it's the dead of winter would help."

Unlike him I held a higher rank which made uniform a questionable topic. Standard blue dress pants with a button down white shirt tucked under a long sleeved blue one. My pants were tucked into combat boots laced to my shin with a double holed black belt keeping the white shirt neat. A silver necklace strand holding a golden wedding ring.

"I'm not going to wear shorts like some people." I say after checking my moored reflection

"You've gotta adapt to the area, this ain't Montana."

"Yeah I know, for starters drivers here suck ass."

He laughed

"Well in the state, yes, White River is not so much."

"Maybe because you recognize every single car and know who drives them?"

"Maybe." he smirks

I roll my eyes and shake my head returning it to the roadway. One or two cars had passed us the entire hour we sat here.

Hey Spruce hun, you there?

The voice came from our walkie. It was smooth and calm through radio static. I reach for it. My partner swats my hand away. After their first remark the smooth voice became replaced with static. A much needed conversation breaker.

"Asshole." I grumble

He takes the radio and clicks the top left button pushing it down to where it was smooth, not static. He clears his voice.

"Yeah Dory this is Spruce." he responds

"I could have done that." I say making sure he had ended the call before speaking, I didn't need the entire department hearing our squabble.

There's something happening at the intersection of 164 North and 3252 Woodland Avenue

"Something?"

Reports are claiming a 164 hun

"What was the main call for?" Spruce asks

Don't know hun, origonial caller said Suicide, it's scanned as a car crash though.

"Dispatch this is unit 277 we Copy and are in-route."

He nudges me.

"Woodland avenue, where is that?" I ask

As I was not native to the area the names of streets meant nothing to me, I didn't drive if not needed. I knew how to get to work and home, that's about it.

"Out and go left you will see the driveway about ten miles down the road, maybe about 20 minutes."

"Got it."

Looking left and right, making sure both ways were clear, I hit the lights and sirens noise bouncing from trees. Blinkering left I begin pulling up onto the road before slamming my foot to the gas speed increasing with more weight of my foot. Interceptors could go upwards of 110 miles an hour, I often pushed 90 when responding to calls, it made my partner uncomfortable. As quickly as my foot hit the gas my partner reached for his above door handle grabbing hold of it tight. Using his free hand he grabs his seatbelt pushing his back further against the seat.

"Shit with driving like that we will need to call our own ambulance."

"We should get a swear jar."

He chuckles "You'd be broke every paycheck."

"Mmm likely."

He laughs.

"Like you're any better Mr. Innocent" I tease pointing back at him.

***

0500

Moving to open the door my partner rushes out his running to the side of my car before I could have a say. He swings the door open for me providing a small bow with his gentle action and smirks. Even on the scene of a death he could still crack a joke.

"My lady." he responds after his motion.

"Do you want me to hit you?"

I had said it a little louder than I meant to.

He backs up. I sigh, letting the motion carry through the loud commotion of morning exiting after him. He closes the door behind me as I stretch. We had been in the car for almost 2 hours prior to this without a break or case.

As we begin walking my partner falls behind me causing Chief Jones Brooks to come towards our location.

There was no doubt that the second he had seen us coming the man began his watch. He had the eyes of a hawk, or snake if you were his prey.

Brooks was a hardy man, strong and large in stature. Both muscle and some weight added to the respected parts of his figure. Still, despite that the man could outrun nearly any subject, losing very few times. He liked to use this to his advantage for those in the world not knowing him any better. I must admit that my first meeting with the man I was even taken aback by his size. With truth he couldn't hurt a fly. Brooks hated the title Chief, hated anyone calling him Chief. In his own words it feels informal when talking to friends and colleagues. So he adapted to using his name instead, feeling like using his title gave a false sense of power he did not hold.

Brooks let his age show. Within a first glance you could easily tell the man was somewhere in the 60's. Although he stood a tall 6'2" out growing most everyone currently on the force. Still he had a kind heart and was well respected throughout White River even into surrounding areas. Brook's uniform did not help his body shape. Green khaki shorts rode high onto his waist. Button down shirt the same color appearing a size too big. His normal smile was absent as he struggled to look my partner in the eyes, not a good sign.

Yellow tape sectioned off large portions of the two lane road. What lay before me hardly resembled any sort of vehicle. Mangled bits of metal spread across open highways. Fire Trucks blocked both sides of the scene from onlookers, lights flashing, sirens muted. An ambulance backed against them next to the car doors swung open and the stretcher unloaded. Motion blurred around me as figures mushed themselves into one singular being. My focus was before me, not them.

Shattered glass made the blacktop look like glitter. One singular car. A 1972 red Ferrari, now reduced to nothing but scrap metal and smoke. Every single airbag had gone off, burning from pepper smoke stinging my eyes, my nose. I can't help but shed a tear. This was fairly recent, otherwise fire from the airbags would have died out minutes after impact. The once magnificent vehicle now rest folded against a phone pole, black tar ran halfway up the pole. Both the driver's side and rear passenger lay reduced to nothing white tarps covered entrances to the vehicle. Her hood had lifted showing inner mechanics, pieces that normally shouldn't make their appearance. There was no longer a roof shielding the car from weather, instead it had been peeled back disguising itself as an added trunk. The mirror remained missing as the tarp revealed a body hidden underneath it. Bags lay open, their contaminants spread across roads.

"Jesus." I mutter.

Expecting some sarcastic remark from my partner I turn to find him not even crossing the yellow tape, staring at the scene like a deer in headlights. I open my mouth as Brooks places hand on my shoulder and brushes past me heading towards my partner. I stand in my place watching at a distance. Brooks removes his hat as he catches my partner's body. My partner falls to his knees. Shit.

Brooks lifts the tape well with my partner , grief stricken , behind him rising to his feet. A paramedic comes towards my partner, not paying me any sign or right of mind. He threw his head to the ambulance which now carried one single passenger.

"Hey man we gotta go now are you coming?" he asked

My partner lifts his eyes to the chief pleading silently for a yes. Brooks nods silently, motioning his head towards the vehicle. Without saying a word my partner leaves Brooks and follows the paramedic hopping into the back of the ambulance along with them. In the year I had worked with him I had never once seen my partner fall so silent.

"I don't understand, the dispatch call was incomplete, this seems like a clear cut crash." I say, pausing for effect studying my captain watching for movement. His eyes held the same grief as my partners, just more refined. His posture was relaxed as his muscles fell. "Why call me?"

"Because you are a homicide detective are you not?" he asks, laying way to his question.

"Yes,"

"Honest thoughts?" he asks, motioning towards it, not daring to step closer.

I pause. Death was consistent with the make of injury. What didn't match up was the impact.

"This road is 45 right?" I ask

"Yes, until you get out of town then it hits 80 again."

"There is no way this could have been hit from 45, there would be significantly less damage and some minor injuries. The form of impact does not match up; they would have had to be going north not south to hit the drivers side leaving them on the left side of the road not the right. Unless, there was a second car involved." I stop looking around leaving the scene crossing underneath yellow tape.

Brooks follows behind me at a distance. I cross the road to the left finding skidmarks burned into weeds.

"There was another car."

"Making this a targeted crash."

"They could have been waiting for them to come home, home I'm guessing is that way," I pause pointing my thumb towards the nearby driveway. "Blinker system is engaged in making a turn, the next turn off is about 10 miles up the road and 15 miles back down the road."

"Their names are Mike Randall, and MaryAnneRandall Wright, they live in that cabin."

He pointed to the same one I did. Shit, sometimes I hated being right.

"Randall, has in," he cuts me off

"Yes, Randall as in Officer Spruce Randall, you're partner."

Shit.

My eyes fall to the body still covered by a single white tarp with crimson stains soaking through.

I go towards the body and remove the sheet ripping it from him, only enough to see his chest and head keeping privacy to the victim and his family. Brooks looks away. It wasn't my job description to show respect or remorse. I was a hard ass yes, but that is what got this job done. My entire job was based on death, homicide, I only had a job if people kept dying, and in today's world someone was always dying.

He was a male, late forties, head balding with rich black hair and some gray strands showing. Much of his clothing had been shredded and torn. Tan cargo shorts stained by his and his wife's blood, along with the floral printed blue hawaiian shirt. A white fedora with a black band was off to the side of his body. Glass remains logged into his skull areas covered by the hat were nearly untouched, eyes and neck, morning sunlight caught the shards causing them to sparkle like stars. Burns from the airbags along his torso where the shirt had been torn, and ran up his neck stopping at his face. His eyes remain open, totally and completely white, no color in his irises. If anything, during any case I had worked, any problems with eyes sent a spike down my spine. I remove white gloves from my pocket and snap them on ensuring a tight fit before running soft fingers over his lids and closing them. Further down a symbol caught my eyes.. Burned into his skin was a strange round symbol. I lift his arm to examine it and turn his wrist slightly. I pull a small phone from my pocket and snap a quick photo. Intriguing to me was the large bullet hole lodged into his skull, I was half tempted to try and find a shell casing, but would leave that to the corner.

"I'm done here." I stood, safely removing my glove and sliding the phone back inside a empty pant pocket.

I squinted with sunshine as it blinded my field of vision, turning towards Brooks and covering the body back up with the tarp.

"Any witnesses?"

I stepped closer to him, further away from the stench of decay.

"Mrs. Randall, a paramedic, said she was in critical condition when they arrived. She's going by ground to a level 3 trauma center about 20 minutes away."

"Why didn't they lifeflight?"

"Risk of further injury, had she rebar from the car hood logged into her gut, the chopper would have been way too risky."

"How long until we are aware of her condition?"

"I'll have Spruce set up some updates by the hour, you should have him on your phone, he is your partner after all."

"Yeah, I do, is there any reason this could be thought of as a suicide?"

Brooks freezes for a while. Staring towards the cabin road.

"He's been on edge lately, nearly driving Sprue insane, starting days before you arrived. He became reclusive and deranged. It took Mary days to drag him out of it. She had convinced him to head over to San Fran for the weekend to get his edge off."

"You knew them well didn't you?"

He shuffles a laugh as we watch the corner unload Mr. Randalls rotting corpse carefully moves it into a white van.

"Mike was Chief before me, he's native to these parts and grew up here unlike me who have been like brothers since grade school. It's such a shame too."

"Okay think for a minute, you said that it's a shame why?"

"Mary was diagnosed with cancer, she just received her last treatment,"

It hit me like my chest as any air flees my lungs escaping through my mouth. Blood replaces any oxygen as I choke back any excess that found its way up.

"You okay red?" he asks

I take a moment my vision dancing black spots twirling around like fairies.

"Yeah, headache."

I know the lie will only get me so far. I need to make it back to the truck.

"Really?"

"Yes." i groan

He raises his brow.

"I have some tylenol in the truck, you said she just got her last cancer treatment, when was she diagnosed?"

I forced my eyes from the ground, lifting my head to meet his gaze, pain searing through my temples.

"Around 7 years ago."