Chapter 2 Kobe
Kobe
I collapsed on the couch with a groan. “I’ve never been more grateful to have a day off in my life. Please run my phone over with your car so it never rings again.”
Elifet chuckled as he aimed for the kitchen. “You should know better than to say that shit out loud. Do you want a beer? I didn’t get snacks, but I figured we could order pizza at halftime.”
“Beer would be great.” I dug the TV remote out from under a mess of debris on the coffee table and flicked through the channels until I landed on the Cincinnati Buffalo game I’d been waiting for all week.
As a detective with the Ottawa Police Department, I rarely saw two days off in a row.
My partner, Rue Hayashi, and I had managed to clear up a handful of backlogged cases, giving us a rare moment to breathe.
Although our houses mirrored one another, Elifet lived a more extravagant lifestyle with a big screen TV, soft leather couches, a full bedroom set, and carefully selected accessories that seemed frivolous and unnecessary to my more minimalistic existence.
It was why Sunday afternoon football happened at his place more often than not, despite us being next-door neighbors.
In twelve minutes and eleven seconds—according to the time ticker at the top of the screen—my friendship with Elifet would turn caustic.
The expected rivalry would last approximately three hours—pending overtime—before we reverted to our comfortable, good-natured camaraderie.
The contention worsened when our favorite teams played one another, and I’d been a hardcore Buffalo fan since I was old enough to understand football.
Elifet didn’t have a preferred team, per se, but he rooted for anyone who wasn’t Buffalo, to spite me, no doubt, but it was all good fun. No one walked away with hurt feelings. Our jobs kept us busy, so we treasured the rare times we were able to hang out.
Elifet returned with two sweating bottles of beer and handed me one before collapsing on the couch, close enough that our knees knocked. The compression of cushions brought our shoulders together, and Elifet swung an arm around me, casual as always.
“Hey, Moonpie. Looking mighty fine in an oversized hoodie and joggers.”
“Fuck you. Some of us dress for the weather. Besides, I thought we were watching the game. Get off me.” I playfully shoved him, but he refused to budge.
“I can think of better things to do than watching your shitty-ass team play.”
“Are you smack-talking already?” I quirked a brow, elbowing him harder. “That will get you nowhere.”
Elifet laughed, ruffled my unruly shag of hair, and shuffled to the other side of the couch. “Suit yourself, Buffalo. The offer is null later.”
“No, it’s not.”
Elifet chuckled. The man was a panther, long and lean with honed musculature he liked to flaunt by wearing the least amount of clothes he could get away with, even in the colder months.
He was of mixed Haitian and British heritage with warm brown skin and coiled black hair that he wore several inches long.
It gave him a playful edge that only complemented his vibrant smile.
Although Elifet’s family had emigrated from London when he was eight, he still clung to a mild accent, laying it on thicker when he thought it might work to his advantage—particularly when he was trying to pick up at the bars.
People were oddly attracted to sexy men with accents. I pretended to be immune.
In nothing but loose basketball shorts, Elifet stretched out, setting his bare feet on the coffee table and draping an arm along the back of the couch.
Relaxed and carefree, he carried quiet strength and confidence that I envied.
He had the perfect job and the perfect family, both things I lacked.
As an extrovert, Elifet was sure of himself and never gave a fuck what other people thought.
I longed for his poise and sureness.
Living under constant microscopic inspection from my boss and partner, I tended to spend half my days biting my tongue while trying and failing to shape myself into something I wasn’t.
The expected jibing began with kickoff, and I reached for my beer, grinning and shaking my head at my best friend and neighbor as he insulted every aspect of Buffalo’s plays, criticizing players, coaches, and every single penalty.
I had barely swallowed my first sip of beer when the inevitable happened. My phone, which never made it under the wheel of Elifet’s car, rang. With its shrill cry—a ringtone I’d set specifically to warn about calls from work—my pleasant Sunday afternoon plans evaporated.
Tossing my head back, I groaned. “Fuck me. For real?”
“You said no, remember. I offered.”
I threw a pillow at his face, and he laughed, singing, “Should have kept your mouth shut.”
Setting the beer on the coffee table, I grabbed my phone and connected the call with a terse, “Yeah.”
“We’ve got a body. Rideau River Nature Trail near the access off Telmon Street. I’ll text you the exact coordinates. Hayashi will meet you there. Forensics is already processing the scene.”
Staff Sergeant Olivia Golding never beat around the bush.
Her detached manner and sharp tongue made her hard to like, but she was good at her job.
My partner thought I took Golding’s attitude too personally, but my boss wasn’t my biggest fan.
She went out of her way to criticize everything I did and every decision I made.
At least three times a week, she reminded me that the only reason I was promoted to homicide was because the other applicants didn’t qualify, and they had to hire someone. The underlying message was clear. They wished that someone wasn’t me.
Golding’s icy eyes watched me with contempt, waiting for me to screw up so she could drag me into her office for a reprimand.
Did she have a reason to be so derisive?
Oh yes. My years on street patrol were far from exemplary.
But alas, due to a shortage of applicants and strain in the homicide sector, she had no choice but to take me on.
“Hello? Are you with me, Haven?”
“Yeah. No problem. On my way.”
“You better not have been drinking.”
“No, ma’am.”
“I’ll know.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m aware.”
The phone clicked before I could ask for further details.
“Your boss is nothing but a cock block. You should have told her you had a hot guy in your bed.”
I huffed and tossed the phone on the coffee table. “That is the last thing I would ever tell her. Besides, you weren’t getting laid today, so quit pretending you were.”
Elifet and I weren’t in a relationship. Our personalities didn’t mesh. We hooked up on occasion, but it was rare.
“A travesty. Look at the bright side. Maybe a certain new-hire pathologist will be at the scene. Are you still pining after that handsome devil?”
I grinned but didn’t answer.
“Thought so.” Elifet’s teasing faded, replaced by an expression of worry. “So, you gotta go, huh?”
“Yeah. DB somewhere on Rideau Nature Trail, but you didn’t hear it from me.”
“Maybe an old guy went out for a cold-weather run and collapsed from a heart attack. It’s been known to happen.”
True, but I sensed I wouldn’t be so lucky. Rue and I wouldn’t have been called to evaluate had the responding officers not suspected a homicide.
I handed Elifet my untouched beer. “When Buffalo wins—”
“They won’t.”
“When Buffalo wins…” I pointedly glared. “Just know I’m happy-dancing even though you can’t see it.”
“Yeah, yeah. Get outta my house, Haven.”
We both laughed as I grabbed my phone and keys and headed home to change. So much for a lazy Sunday off.
It had yet to snow, but for early December, the air crackled with cold, especially near the water where the wind took flight, slashing icy blades across unprotected skin.
Telmon, a normally quiet side street, was packed on both sides with black-and-whites, an ambulance, fire rescue, and several other vehicles I suspected belonged to authority of one kind or another.
Someone must have used 9-1-1 to call it in.
Citizens spilled from houses, gathering on front lawns and curbs to gawk and whisper.
The press hadn’t yet arrived, but it was a matter of time.
Those vultures had a nose for juicy stories.
I spotted Rue near the trailhead, chatting with a uniform who must have been giving her a rundown since he gestured toward the river more than once. The constable scrubbed a hand over his nape and shook his head, conveying a sense of disbelief.
Violence and atrocities like murder didn’t shock me anymore.
In my short time with Ottawa’s homicide division, I’d learned that human beings were the cruelest species in the animal kingdom and the only ones who killed for sheer pleasure.
It didn’t take much to tip someone over the edge. Brutality came in all shapes and sizes.
My partner, ten years my senior, showed no expression as she listened to the constable.
Rue’s severe countenance was both a shield and part of her personality.
I had gotten used to it, but some people found it off-putting.
Paired with her height—she matched my six feet inch-for-inch—Rue was the definition of intimidating.
She had a quiet beauty. Her jet-black hair was always pulled into a tight, low ponytail.
It hung to the middle of her back and flapped in the breeze across the nylon shell of her Ottawa Police parka.
I’d zipped my matching jacket to my chin, wishing I’d grabbed a beanie.
My ears ached already. If we were out here for any length of time, I was going to freeze.
More than a nugget of truth existed in the saying “It’s too cold to snow.” The heavy clouds that had blanketed the sky for days seemed unable to release their burden, clinging to the promised winter storm with frozen fingers.
Rue caught my eye and touched the constable’s arm, disengaging and meeting me on the road.