two

[OCTOBER 30, 2022 — 4:35 P.M.]

Damien ran towards the crime scene, juggling a cup of coffee in one hand and a file in another. He just about made it towards the leading investigator when he was pulled backwards.

He spilled his coffee in surprise, ready to curse at whoever pulled him away from his beeline.

"Chill," a voice behind him chuckled, "I got you coffee."

Okay, so maybe he shouldn't curse.

"The only reason you're not dead," Damien mumbled, turning to face his assailant and snatching the cup of coffee offered to him, "is because you got me coffee."

The person—Zac—shook his head, smiling cheekily.

"Really?" Zac snarked back. "You're not glad that I made you drop the stale coffee you wanted to drink?"

Damien sighed, annoyed. "Stop—"

"My bad," Zac mocked, "I didn't know you liked the taste of expired coffee beans—"

"They're not expired."

"—or the fact that department only washes the coffee filter every two months."

"Two months?!" Damien exclaimed before promptly lowering his voice, "I thought they washed the filter every two days..."

"Nope!" Zac smiled brightly. "Two months!"

"Not two weeks? Are you sure it's not weeks?"

"Nope! Months!"

"Shit..." Damien cursed.

"Exactly how it tastes!" Zac concluded, patting Damien's shoulder and gesturing ahead. "Drink up. There's a body. I don't think you can stomach anything after you see a corpse."

Damien nodded, taking a sip out of his new drink and grimacing.

"What's in this?!" he screeched, gagging at the taste of—

"Six pumps of vanilla, four pumps of chocolate, and an extra two pumps of sweetener," Zac informed, thinking extra hard until he remembered, "Oh! And I added some sugar packets and heavy cream just in case—"

"Just in case of what?!"

"I wasn't too sure, actually..."

"Jesus Christ, Zachary..."

"Zac," he corrected, grumbling at the use of his full first name. "I don't call you Damien Esteban out of the blue."

"That's because Esteban is my middle name!"

"Well, then that makes -hary my middle name!"

"That's not how middle names work—"

"Detective Douglas. Detective Davis," the lead investigator interrupted their banter, "So good to have you here."

"You too, Mr. Peterson," Damien said, shaking the man's hand and promptly handing the file in his hand.

"Ah, Mr. Peterson!" Zac greeted enthusiastically. "How's the corpse doing?"

The lead detective looked at Zac weirdly, turning to Damien to answer the question that was asked.

"It appears to be a death by suicide," Mr. Peterson told the detective. "Cold case—shut and done. No need for you gentlemen to get in the way."

"That's great, Mr. Peterson," Damien thanked hesitantly.

"Wow, so amazing," Zac gasped. "You're so awesome, Mr. Peterson! Thank you so much for doing all this work!"

"We still need to do a thorough investigation though," Damien said, taking the lead investigator's attention away from Zac.

"No need," Mr. Peterson denied.

"We appreciate your work, but—"

"No but's," Mr. Peterson interrupted, advising, "Just report to your higher-up's that the case is closed. Tell them I said so."

"But the investigation—"

"Is closed," the lead detective insisted, growing visibly impatient by the second. "Listen, detective, you might not know how this works, but you need to learn."

"...Learn, sir?"

"When I say something is a closed case, then it's a closed case. When your higher-up's tell you that it's a closed case, then it's a closed case. What's so hard to understand?"

"The academy—"

"You think the academy has anything to do with how the world works?" the lead detective sneered.

"No, but—"

"You're so right, Mr. Peterson," Zac agreed, brushing off Damien's comments as though they were nothing. "Detective Douglas doesn't quite understand yet; I'll explain it to him."

"You?" Mr. Peterson said amusedly, looking Zac up and down in mild disbelief. "You're going to explain?"

"Of course!" Zac exclaimed, holding out his hand for the lead investigator. "It was a pleasure doing work with you, sir! Thank you so much!"

Mr. Peterson looked at Zac's outstretched hand and scoffed, walking away without shaking it. Zac slowly lowered his hand, reaching up to scratch the back of his head awkwardly. Damien took the time to roughly elbow his partner in the ribs.

"Ow!" Zac groaned dramatically (though, it did hurt), "What was that for?!"

"You don't have to be so passive aggressive!" Damien scolded.

Zac tsked, rolling his eyes. "Then how else do I express my deep hatred for the bastard?"

"You need to be professional!"

"I am a professional! I have a badge and a gun!"

"Those are accessories to your profession, not professionalism!"

"If, by professionalism, you mean customer service," Zac grumbled, "then I didn't shoot him in the leg. My gun was loaded and everything!"

"Oh my God, you idiot," Damien gritted out before screaming, "That's basic human decency!"

"Maybe, but—"

"No but's!" Damien shut down the argument before it even started, holding up his hand in Zac's face. "Nope! We are not doing this today. Not! I repeat, not doing this today!"

Zac pouted.

"No—" Damien breathed in and exhaled slowly. "No. Absolutely not."

Zac pouted harder, throwing in an extra touch of puppy eyes and—

"Ew, stop," Damien retched, turning away from his fellow detective.

Zac sighed, confused. "That's usually not the reaction you expect from puppy eyes and pouting."

"It works with puppies and children—"

"Oh, so you look at children's faces?"

"You," Damien snapped, fed up with the mind games his partner was obviously playing, "are not doing this today."

"But—"

"Stop putting words in my mouth!"

"I won't!" Zac reassured, watching as Damien stomped away angrily. He shouted as his friend retreated, "And speaking of putting things in your mouth, you should drink your coffee before it gets cold! Six pumps of vanilla, four pumps of chocolate, an extra two pumps of—"

Damien stuck a middle finger at Zac before he could finish rechanting the order.

Zac shrugged, "Damn..."

***

No matter how hard Damien looked at the crime scene, it looked just like what the lead investigator reported to him: a death by suicide.

"We can take the body in for an autopsy," the head of the forensics team told him, "but Detective Peterson already said that the case of closed, so..."

Damien nodded in understanding. If the case was closed, then there was no real reason for an autopsy. If anything, it seemed that the forensics team was purely there for decoration. It would've been a waste of resources.

"Go on and take it for autopsy, Ms. Corpse Overseer!" Zac instructed, coming up from behind Damien.

"Ms. Ludacrib," the head of the forensics team corrected, already tired and used to his antics. "Sure thing."

Zac thanked her, turning to a very disgruntled partner and nudging him knowingly.

"What?" Damien hissed.

He was tired. He was worn out. He hadn't been caffeinated yet. He felt insulted (was insulted within the hour) by a figure of certain authority.

So what in God's name was Detective Zachery Davis doing?

"Follow me," Zac said, sending him a reassuring glance.

"This better be worth it," Damien warned.

"Of course it's worth it," Zac said in a voice deemed to be the most obvious thing in the world. "This wasn't a suicide."

That intrigued Damien.

"Think about it," Zac insinuated. "How many bullet wounds were in the body?"

"Theoretically," Damien reported, "there would be one. Unidentified John Doe shot himself in the head."

"Right, theoretically, there would be one bullet wound."

"...Why did you say it like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like..." Damien cleared his throat, imitating Zac as he resaid, "Theoretically there would be one bullet wound."

"Oh!" Zac snapped his fingers as though he suddenly remembered, "Because I asked the people that made the phone call!"

"Huh?" Damien wondered when Zac had the time to do that. "About what?"

"About why they made the phone call, which I kind of got confused about 'cause one was hysterical and the other was unresponsive as hell, but one of the ladies said something weird."

"...Which was?"

"They heard three gun shots; not just one."