Chapter 39 Dominic
Dominic
“Owen Martin. Early forties male. Five stab wounds to the stomach, right shoulder, left thigh, and two to the chest,” Officer Marks updates Shane and me as we stand beside the lifeless body lying in the center of the living room of this apartment in a large puddle of blood.
“We got a call from a concerned neighbor in the building. She heard yelling and loud noise coming from this apartment. We arrived five minutes after the call, but he was already DOA.”
“Do you have the neighbor’s info?” Shane asks, and Officer Marks nods, pulling his small notepad from the front pocket of his uniform shirt.
My eyes survey the room, noting blood splatters on nearly every available surface in the place, along with a clear path of a violent struggle from the kitchen to the living room.
Chairs are flipped over, and all items that once sat on the kitchen counter, kitchen table, and coffee table are scattered across the floor.
Everything but the suspect and the actual murder weapon appears to be here.
“Let’s get forensics out here,” I say, but irritation fills my veins as I watch a few newbie officers traipse through my crime scene like they’re tourists on vacation. “And how about we treat this like a fucking crime scene, yeah?” I call out to the room full of morons.
Everyone stops what they’re doing, but they also just stand there, looking at me.
I sigh, run a hand through my hair. “Tape off the scene, and if you’re not actively investigating this case, get the hell out.”
Officer Marks takes it upon himself to corral the newbies out of the apartment, and Shane chuckles beside me as he writes something down in his notepad.
“What?” I ask, and he slowly lifts his eyes from his notes to look at me.
“Oh, nothing,” he replies, sliding his notepad back into his inside jacket pocket. “Just wondering when whatever has crawled inside your asshole is going to crawl back out.”
I scoff. “I’m not that bad.”
He tilts a knowing grin. “Sure.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “They were traipsing through our fucking crime scene like we’re hosting an art exhibition.”
“Officer Carey was taking photos,” he states. “Langley was standing in the corner of the room, not touching anything. And Hughes was literally standing outside the door.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s not Langley’s job to take fucking pictures.”
“Right.” Shane just grins. “God forbid the kid try to get a little experience in homicide investigations.”
Seeing that this conversation isn’t going anywhere, I head out of the apartment, climbing beneath the yellow tape in front of the door as I do.
I’m halfway to the stairwell, ready to climb the two flights to reach apartment 503 to speak with the victim’s neighbor, when Shane stops me with a strong grip on my shoulder.
“Whatcha doin’, bud?” he asks, and I turn on my heels to look at him.
“Well, I would say I’m trying to investigate a homicide,” I retort. “Not sure if you realize, but that’s the whole reason we’re here.”
Shane just stares at me, amusement tugging at the corners of his lips.
“Now isn’t the time, man,” I mutter and start to turn back to the stairwell, but he’s gripping my shoulder again. “C’mon, Shane. Just let me do my job.”
“See, that’s the whole problem right now, Dom,” he says, and I hate the way his head tilts to the side as he gives me a half-sympathetic, half-sarcastic smile.
“The victim’s neighbor is probably scared out of her mind right now, and, well, you and I both know in order to get valuable information out of her, it’s going to take a little gentle coaxing. ”
“I don’t know if you know this, but I’ve been a homicide investigator for a fucking while now.”
“And you’re one of the best,” he comments. “But right now, you’re a little . . . off your game.”
“Off my game?” My head jerks back from the blow. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about your quick trigger. I’m talking about the fact that you just lost your shit on a roomful of officers who weren’t doing anything wrong. I’m talking about the fact that you’re on edge these days.”
My nostrils flare. “I’m fine.”
Shane eyes me closely, his face silently telling me I need to get my shit together, and I let out a deep exhale.
“Okay, fine. Yeah. Maybe I’m a little on edge,” I answer, even though speaking the truth feels like nails scraping across my throat.
“It’s all good, brother.” Shane pats me on the arm. “Just take a beat to get your focus and we’ll go chat with the neighbor.”
I nod as I step back to lean against the wall that leads to the stairwell.
Shit’s been fucked for almost a week, and it doesn’t take a genius to deduce why.
Five days ago, I told Hannah I’d paid off the reverse mortgage on her mom’s house in the name of giving her a choice—giving her the option to control her own life so she didn’t have to keep working at Call Me Anytime.
I thought she’d be happy. I thought she’d see it as an opportunity for her to go back to college, finish her degree, and actually be able to have the career she’s always dreamed of without carrying the financial burden she has been for years.
But she wasn’t anything but pissed. Angry. Fucking sad.
She ripped up the check and told me to get the hell out.
Ever since, I’ve been trying to reach out to her, but she’s been completely MIA.
The only response I’ve gotten from her is the check she mailed me to pay back part of the reverse mortgage I paid off, along with a handwritten note detailing her plans to pay me back in full.
Though I refuse to cash it—or any other check she sends my way. Hannah deserves the freedom from her financial burden.
Too bad it’s only costing you your relationship with her . . .
Fuck. The whole situation is hell, to be honest, and it’s all my mind wants to think about.
If I’m not at work, I’m thinking about Hannah.
If I’m at work, I’m thinking about Hannah.
If I’m awake at night, I’m making discreet drive-bys of Hannah’s place just to make sure she and her mom and Lovie are safe.
Get it together, man.
I take a deep breath, close my eyes for a brief moment, and force myself to focus on the task at hand—a new homicide that Shane and I need to investigate.
When I open my eyes, Shane is sitting on the stairs, his face fixated on the screen of his phone.
“Okay,” I announce, stepping forward with determination. “Let’s do this.”
Shane nods and stands. I follow his lead up the stairwell to apartment 503.
But once we reach the fifth floor, he stops to answer his ringing phone.
“Maddox,” he greets, and I stand there, waiting for him to finish before knocking on the victim’s neighbor’s door.
His brow furrows as he listens to whatever is being said on the other end of the line. “What about Dunphy?”
My ears perk up at the name I know is related to the Call Me Anytime case.
“Shit,” Shane mutters. “Can’t deny I’m surprised.” He turns to look out the window of the fifth-floor hallway. “No . . . we’re in the same boat with McHugh . . . Yeah . . . Well, Cap already said we had to pull the wiretap, so we’re going to have to figure out another plan . . .”
Pull the wiretap?
“Okay . . . Keep me updated.” He ends the call and slides his phone back into his suit jacket as he turns to face me.
“What’s going on?”
He furrows his brow, and I know what he’s thinking: You’re no longer on this case, brother, so it’s not your concern.
“Just fucking tell me.”
“Dunphy and McHugh alibied out too. And we’re not talking soft alibis. I mean, ironclad ones. There’s no way they were anywhere in the vicinity of the murders.”
“And the captain is pulling the wiretap?”
“Our warrant’s just about expired anyways.”
“What the hell, man?” I don’t even know what to say or think or feel. “I fucking trusted you to stay on top of that case. And now you have no suspect and no fucking wiretap?”
“I think you need to slow your roll,” Shane retorts, and his jaw clenches with each word. “You and I both know it’s not an easy case to solve and the original warrant we got was practically by a miracle. I’m doing everything I can, Dom. Every fucking thing I can.”
“Son of a bitch.” I grip the back of my neck, my mind swirling with what all of it means for Hannah. What could happen if no one is actively listening to her calls.
Anger vibrates within every cell in my body. I’m pissed at Shane for telling me everything was on the right track with this case and it not being on the right track at all. I’m mad at myself for pulling myself off the case, even though I know it was the right thing to do.
I’m pissed at Hannah for being so stubborn and prideful that she won’t even talk to me now. I’m mad that I can’t protect her, even though I feel like her safety is in jeopardy.
“We’re already working on getting the captain to put a few officers on the case to relisten to all of the calls we’ve recorded,” Shane updates me, but it does nothing for my state of mind. If anything, it only urges more anger.
And the irony of it all: I pulled myself from the case because of my relationship with her. A relationship that no longer exists because I fucked things up.
I’m mad at the whole goddamn world, but when I see the way Shane is looking at me, his brow furrowing as if he’s waiting for me to lose my ever-loving shit, I know I have to rein it in.
He already feels that I’m a quick trigger—going off on him right now won’t get me anywhere.
It certainly won’t encourage him to keep me updated on the CMA case, that’s for damn sure.
I swallow hard against the onslaught of anger that wants to spew from my lungs. I shut my eyes and take a deep breath and force myself to keep it together.
He’s still eyeing me closely, but I force a neutral expression on my face.
He doesn’t know all the details of what went down with Hannah and me—doesn’t know that I’m in love with her or that she’s kicked me to the fucking curb—and in the name of keeping my finger on the case’s pulse, I’m not going to reveal any of that to him.
The less he knows, the better.
“You ready to talk to the neighbor?” I question as I give my best impression of cool, calm, and collected.
Eventually, he nods. “All right, man. Let’s do it.”
I’m worried as hell about Hannah. I’m worried about Sherry and Lovie too.
And more than anything, I hate that I feel like I have zero control over anything right now.
Fuck.