Chapter Seven
Monday morning, I zipped into the last parking spot at work. Pressed for time, I didn’t straighten my car to fit nicely between the lines. I grabbed my travel mug, handbag, and scurried across the parking lot. My heels clicked like trotting pony hooves. I rummaged through my purse for my ID badge but couldn’t find it, so I pressed the buzzer beside the door.
“Forensics,” a familiar male voice said from the speaker.
“Hey, Charlie, it’s June. I forgot my badge; can you buzz me in?”
“Wow, that’s a first. No problem.” The latch clicked.
“Thank you!” I rushed down the hall, dumped my stuff in the locker room, and entered the lab. The door slammed behind me, and I blew hair from my eyes. My three co-workers remained motionless, staring at me.
“Good morning,” I said. Still, no one moved. “What’s up?” I asked and reached for my hung-up lab coat.
Edward Ying finally moved; the more-salt-than-pepper-haired DNA guru put down a tray of samples. “You’re late. And your hair’s down. Are you sick?”
I buttoned my coat. “I’m not sick. And it’s five to eight. Technically, I’m early.”
Lara Lambert shuffled papers on the bench top. “For you, this is late.” She spoke with a French accent, having emigrated from Brussels only eight years ago. She moved toward me and looked down. “You’re wearing a skirt. And pumps.”
I pulled on a pair of gloves and went to the fridge to retrieve my samples. “You wear a skirt and heels every day, Lara.” I didn’t want to add she also wore pantyhose, even in ninety-degree weather.
Lara nodded. “Yes, I do, but you don’t. You wear pajamas, I mean, scrubs.”
The others snickered.
I shook my head as I lined up my specimens. “Will you guys stop already? So, I dressed up a bit. Big deal.” I went to the locked fridge to search for the items Patrick said he had dropped off. I turned to Vinny Fuller, the most senior analyst. He sat beside me on a tall stool, logging in forensic evidentiary items including cigarette butts, torn fabric, and a toothbrush.
“Hey, Vinny,” I said. “Have you come across any recent items such as bloody gauze in a jar, or maybe a knife from a crime scene?”
Vinny scrunched his nose and pushed up his black-framed glasses. His magnified eyes showed surprise, and then he scratched his bald head. “Actually, yes. Those exact items are waiting to be processed. How did you know about them?” He leaned closer to me. “What’s that black stuff around your eyes?” he said and then chuckled like a hyena.
I broke down and finally laughed at all the razzing. “Okay, guys, it’s getting old. Now, let’s get some work done, shall we?” I focused on my tasks when I heard the door open and close.
“Good morning, Officer Verbeek,” Edward Ying said. “What brings you here this morning?”
Heavy police boots walked across the room toward me. My heart skipped.
“Good morning. I’m here to speak with June,” Patrick said in the strong, deep voice that struck a tender part inside of me, especially when he uttered my name. He stood an arm’s length away, clean shaven and dapper in his crisp uniform.
I angled away from Patrick, then glanced at my co-workers. All eyes were on us. Lara cracked a smile, and Edward gave me a thumbs-up behind Patrick’s back.
My cheeks burned, and I inwardly groaned. I tried to act nonchalant so the others wouldn’t figure out Patrick and I were a thing. But I had a feeling they’d already figured out our secret. No one could hide anything from this team of experts.
“Good morning, Officer Verbeek,” I said, keeping it formal. But Patrick’s knowing gaze and his hand on my lower back showed our relationship had evolved into something much less formal.
“You look hot as hell,” he whispered.
I tried not to smile. Everyone’s attention was still on us. All they needed was movie popcorn and a fountain drink to make their viewing experience more enjoyable.
“How’s everyone?” Patrick said, glancing around, facing their stares full on. I wished I could be as cool and calm as Patrick appeared to be. No doubt my blushing cheeks were turning shades of red.
“Is that a rhetorical question, Officer?” Vinny said. “Cause if you really want to know how we’re doing, you better have a seat.”
Patrick chuckled and sat on a stool. “Still a huge backlog?”
I couldn’t help smiling. Patrick’s personable gesture showed he cared about everyone.
“Oh, yes. Weeks' worth of backlog,” Lara said. “So don’t bring us any more. Not to mention our genetic analyzer is almost caput, and reagents are on back order. Which wouldn’t have been so bad if somebody hadn’t knocked over a bottle of gel-loading solution.” She gave Vinny the evil eye.
“It’s not my intention to increase your workload, trust me,” Patrick said. “But I have a murder victim slated for an autopsy. What’s the probability of that being done today?”
“You mean the probability of it being done this month, don’t you?” Edward said. “And that’s only if the new pathologist shows up.”
“We’re getting a new pathologist?” I said, louder than I intended. Everyone looked over, and I shrugged in the awkward moment. “Sorry, I didn’t know we got approval.”
“Well, that’s great news, right?” Patrick said.
“It is,” Vinny said. “But we also need to hire a new lab tech. June thrives on the overtime, but I personally don’t want any extra hours.”
I shrugged again. “I wouldn’t exactly say I thrive on it.”
Patrick winked at me. “Have you begun analysis of the most recent items I brought in?”
I shook my head, then blew at the insistent hair falling in my eyes. “No, actually, I just got in.”
Vinny laughed in the background, most certainly about my “lateness.”
“June, may I speak with you in private for a moment?” Patrick asked.
“Of course.” I followed him out of the lab and into the hallway, away from all the inquisitive ears.
He looked at me intensely. “Are you all right?” he said. “Are you feeling any post-traumatic stress?”
I rubbed my forehead. “I don’t think so. Maybe. Maybe not.” I leaned against the wall. “I think you’ve affected me more than the guy who body checked me into the dumpster.”
Patrick moved closer, but then stepped back when a door slammed down the hall. Footsteps and the sound of jingling keys approached. It was Charlie, the security guard.
“Good morning,” he said. He held his stocky form in straight posture. It was obvious he hit the gym regularly—a deterrent to mess with him right off the bat.
Patrick and I greeted him.
Charlie walked past us and then turned. “June, do you need a temporary badge ’til you find yours?”
“Yeah, that’d be great. I can stop by security later to pick it up.”
Charlie waved, then stepped outside to do his usual security checks of the building’s perimeter.
“You can’t find your badge?” Patrick asked.
“No, I must have left it at home. I’ve been a bit distracted lately.”
“As have I,” he whispered and moved closer.
I lowered my gaze and noticed the shiny silver badge on his chest. I felt the blood drain from my face. Panic fizzed up in my chest like seltzer.
“What just happened? June?”
“Patrick,” I started to say and cleared my constricted throat. “My work badge, it’s actually missing.”
“Missing? But you said you left it at home.”
I put my hand on his chest. “Yes, that’s what I thought. But I realized the last time I had my ID badge was when I was attacked.”
Patrick clenched his jaw.
“What if the guy who shoved me has my badge? He’d know my name, what I look like, where I work, and have access to this building. He could find out where I live.”
“June, I’ll speak to Charlie and have him deactivate your badge.”
“Okay, good,” I said and wrung my hands.
“We’ll take every precaution to keep you safe.”
His comfort was immeasurable. I could see concern on his face, but I didn’t know if he was worried about my state of upset, or about the potential escalated danger of the case. Probably both. From the beginning, he took my involvement in the case seriously, and I wished I hadn’t downplayed it. I shivered.
“Thank you, Patrick.”
He gently kissed the top of my head.
I pulled my shoulders back and focused on my mission.
I had work to do to help solve this mystery.