Chapter Three
Crime Scenes and Canine Companions
Nick
“I’m assigning you guys the Tyler Robertson case,” Captain Marsden says, dropping a file onto my desk.
I look up from the report I was finishing up.
Serena bounces over to my desk. “Oooh, the murder of the actor from that werewolf show?”
I flinch before I can stop myself. There won't be a time when a human casually mentioning werewolves won't kick my heart into overdrive. Half the reason they decided to create this show must be to give werewolves around the world spontaneous strokes.
The other half was to produce the most ridiculous plotlines week after week to make the idea of werewolves so absurd that humans won’t believe they’re real if one bit them in the ass. Not that I’ll let that happen on my watch.
But it’s just Serena showing excitement about murders.
You know, normal stuff. Serena prefers cases with legwork, tangible evidence, and endless interrogations.
Sometimes I think she chose this job because she watched too much Criminal Minds as a kid.
But I would never say that to her. I like all of my limbs attached to my body, thank you very much.
Captain Marsden nods, thankfully ignoring Serena's inappropriate enthusiasm. “His body was found yesterday after the director of the show raised an alarm when he didn’t show up at the set for his scenes. An assistant found the body. The patrol officers questioned a few people. It’s all in there. ” She points to the file.
I flip through it. A few pictures catch my eye.
“The body was staged?” I ask, startled. In one of the pictures, Tyler is slumped on a chair, his hands tied, not a spec of blood on his body.
It’s surprising because his face is swollen with bruises and injuries.
The house is chaotic, but again, there’s no blood.
“Yes. The Medical Examiner put the time of death a few hours before the body was found, so around late afternoon. We’ll know more once the examination is finished,” Captain says.
“Personal grudge or an abduction gone wrong?” Serena thinks out loud.
I turn over a few pages. “No one was contacted for money,” I note. “But that’s a good point to start. We can look at his finances and see if there has been any movement in his account recently.”
Serena looks around the busy precinct. “Fallon?” Serena calls out to an officer walking by my desk. She snatches the file, writes something on my notepad, and hands him the slip of paper. “Give me a list of every activity in this guy’s accounts in the last few weeks," she instructs.
Officer Fallon nods, looking a little spooked. Serena does have that effect on people.
“Alright then, report back to me with whatever you have by the end of the day. This will become a media circus soon, so let’s get it solved quickly, alright?” Captain says over her shoulder and marches back to her office.
A serial killer and a high-profile murder, just another Tuesday for me. That and a partner who’s terrifyingly good at delegating desk work.
We roll up our sleeves and get to work. The next few hours are spent learning everything about the case and our victim.
I bring out one of the fancy crime boards the department recently rolled out. Time for some good ol’ murder boarding.
I pin a picture of our victim in the middle. “The neighbors didn’t hear anything, and Tyler had a habit of disappearing for days, so no one was concerned when he went missing,” I refer to the file.
Serena adds another picture to the board. “The girlfriend was shooting in Boston. Her alibi checks out,” she adds.
I snatch the picture away. “If she’s not the victim or the suspect, she doesn’t go on the murder board," I chide.
“God, you’re so touchy about this thing. Fine. Can I add the neighbors, though?” she asks with excitement I can’t say no to.
But I do, snatching the pictures away. “Not until we’ve talked to them. We don’t even have statements from half of them,” I shake my head at her. She sulks loudly. Not that it’d help, murder board rules are sacred!
“We should start with the crime scene,” Serena suggests once she’s sure her theatrics won’t work. I mean, we’ve been partners for six years now. She should know I have a pretty good bullshit-o-meter by now.
***
The smell hits me the moment I park in front of the victim’s house.
Or rather smells. It’s like I’ve been hit by a wall of blended scents so offensive, I want to turn the car around and speed out of here.
It’s overwhelmingly loud, rattling my senses.
Sharp spices, rotting corpses, not one, many, sugary sweet decaying lilies, decomposing garbage, and so many more, I can’t even pull them apart.
My eyes water. My throat starts to clog.
Serena looks at me, concerned. “Hey, you okay?”
I blink a few times and take a long breath. Bad decision. My senses burn with the onslaught. I cough.
I wrench my glove compartment open with shivering hands. Everything clatters down the floor. I barely catch the thick mask most of us carry for situations like these. I pull it on as Serena watches me with wide eyes, her eyebrows practically in her hairline. “The fuck, dude?”
I take another breath, already feeling better. “Sorry, allergies acting up again,” I say, coughing.
Her eyes narrow, but I ignore her and get out of the car. The smell is still horrible, but manageable.
Crime scenes are never easy for me, my werewolf especially hates them. But that’s the job I’ve chosen. Still, this is a whole new level of bad. It literally feels like an attack.
When we walk inside the mansion, the reason behind the sensory attack becomes clear.
The pictures didn’t do justice to the chaos in this place. The floor is covered in clothes, furniture shavings, and pieces of glass. Plants and soil are scattered in the corners. Not a single surface is untouched by the mess.
In the middle of it all, there’s the wooden chair with wooden handles and a large back. They’ve already moved the body and bagged the ropes as evidence.
“Fuck, why does it smell so rotten here?” Serena covers her nose with her hand.
Better late than never. “Maybe because of the food spilled in the kitchen?” I can’t see past the living room, but I know it’s there.
Serena stalks inside, trying not to step on anything. Too late now. With the number of people who have already trampled over the scene, she wasn’t preserving anything.
“Ugh, it’s gross,” she gags.
I walk around. “Even for a big celebrity, I bet Mr. Robertson didn’t live like this until the cleaning lady visited,” I call out.
“Hmm, the killer did it,” Serena says with certainty.
I follow her voice to the second bedroom. The cupboard door is almost detached, hanging on by a screw and a prayer. “We’re not getting anything here. This has to be the weirdest way of hiding the evidence,” I say.
Serena nods. “Yeah, let’s take a look around, then we can start talking to the neighbors. This much destruction must have caused some serious noise.”
Half an hour later, we walked out with nothing to show for our efforts.
“The patrol officers reported no one heard anything,” I tell Serena as we walk to the next-door neighbor’s place, which is still a good distance away.
I’ll completely believe it if they say their human ears didn’t pick up anything, especially if the point of the destruction was hiding evidence in the first place.
***
When we drive back to the station, we’re irritated, hungry, and without any new information about the case beyond Tyler’s apparent love of killing plants.
Mrs. Connie, two houses over, wasn’t happy about that.
Enough to torture him for days, destroy his house, and kill him?
I can’t say. But she’s definitely going on the murder board, if only for annoying us for twenty minutes. I’ll even let Serena do the honors.
“Can it be one of them?” Serena asks.
“We’re definitely checking their alibis. Especially Mrs. Connie. And I don’t believe for one second the model didn’t know he lived next door to Tyler Robertson.”
“Already texted Fallon,” she says.
“Poor guy. His only mistake was taking a bathroom break in the morning, and now he won’t see his bed for weeks,” I shake my head in pity.
“Well, if you’re so hydrated that you need to pee that early in your shift, you’re basically showing off. He deserves every second of that extra work,” Serena says with an evil glint.
Once we’re back, we make a beeline for the poor overworked man through the bustling station. He’s hunched over his screen but looks up at us, excited like a puppy.
“Do we have the finances yet?” Serena asks.
“The DA has approved the subpoenas. We’ll have everything by tomorrow,” Fallon informs.
“Perfect,” Serena says and strides over to her desk.
“You did great,” I assure the man before I follow Serena.
“Let’s visit the set soon?”
Serena nods. “Yeah, depending on the finances, this could very well be a personal vendetta. Colleagues would definitely make the suspect list,” she says, longingly looking at my murder board.
A murder and a television show set full of werewolf suspects. I don’t like where this is headed.
***
I duck out early and dutifully drive to the shelter that’s holding our only witness to the murder, Harold’s dog.
The kid at the desk gives me the biggest smile when I walk in.
“I want to adopt a dog,” I get straight to the point.
“Sure, what kind of dog are you looking for?” she asks.
I put on a shy smile. “I’m not sure yet. Can I look around and see if I click with one of them?”
“Yes! I bet I can help you find your future best bud,” she announces, clapping her hands.
We walk past rows of dog cages, chatting until we reach a Rottweiler snoozing without a care in the world. Miranda passes him by, hoping to get me a doggy meet-cute for the ages. I might have to convince her I have a soul connection with this completely unbothered one right here.
“What’s his name?” I ask.