Nick’s No Good Very Bad Day (San Amaro Investigations)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

“No,” Avila complained, reading over Nick’s shoulder. “This is way too boring. You have to spice it up, give the DA something to grab onto.”

“Grab onto?” Nick gestured at the screen. “This guy was pretending to be a vampire who had recovered. He had some church convinced that the power of prayer could cure vampirism. He made nearly two hundred thousand dollars in donations. What more do you need?”

“You need that! That’s a story. This is just a timeline of things that happened.” Avila raised her eyebrows.

“A timeline is the best way to show how Mr. Weber started and maintained his con. It helps the DA understand that this went on for years.” Nick gestured with one palm up. “It’s also everything that we can prove.”

Avila circled the desk and sat back down in her chair. Grabbing her coffee mug off her desk, she took a sip and made a face. “Boring. Without a story, it’s just a wire fraud case. The DA is going to say wire fraud is federal.”

“I’m hoping he says it’s federal. Federal cases carry a higher minimum sentence on the sort of crime.” Nick leaned forward, feeling a rush of excitement. “And it will be the first case of its kind. It would make the whole department look really good—”

“King!” Captain Tate’s voice boomed across the bullpen, and Nick felt himself straighten, the part of him that still expected Tate to someday come in and tell him he was transferred, he wasn’t a good fit, this wasn’t the right department for him churning in his stomach.

Tate jerked his hand, standing in the doorway of his office. “In here.”

Swallowing, Nick stood and walked past Avila and Zahide. The latter tilted her head while Avila said, “Ooooooh, someone’s in trouble with the principal.”

Nick tried to glare, but the pit of uncertainty snarled his stomach.

As soon as he walked in, Nick shut the door, standing at attention behind the guest chairs in Tate’s office. His captain had settled himself behind his computer, a pair of reading glasses sliding down his nose.

“Do you know where your husband is?” Tate asked, looking over the rim of the glasses.

Immediately, the churn of anxiety turned into something else, a hard fear that ate Nick’s control, and he asked, “Is Parker okay?”

There were always five hundred things that could go wrong with Parker, and after being together for so long, Nick managed to mute his anxiety about most of them.

Sure, it was unlikely that Parker was going to be kidnapped by a black ops government organization who found out he was fae.

But it wasn’t outside of the realm of possibility that Parker had taken a case that was more than he could chew.

“As far as I know, he’s fine. But he popped up at the scene of a murder.” Tate leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together. “Which is not a good look for him, you, and, by extension, me.”

“Is he the main suspect?” Nick asked. His fingers twitched, ready to pull out his cell phone and call the defense attorney he had on retainer.

He’d never told Parker that he’d hired one early on in their relationship, but now that the situation had arisen, he was glad that he had her on speed dial.

“I don’t know. I just got a call from the Major Crimes captain, who said that Ferro is over there shouting my name like it’s a get-out-of-jail-free card.

” Tate pointed at him, his beefy hand making the gesture more meaningful.

“Go. Figure out what is going on. Extract your husband, or at least tell him to stop getting me in trouble with other captains. I emailed you the address and the notes I took from the Major Crimes captain.”

“Thank you, sir.” Nick nodded and turned to head out the door.

“King,” Tate said, waiting for Nick to turn back. “You might want to change before you head over. From what Major Crimes said, it’s bloody.”

At his locker, Nick tried not to think about what “bloody” meant, although his mind supplied a ready flow of images. No. Parker was probably fine. He always was.

Nick grabbed his extra suit and changed out of his formal dress shoes into a pair of sneakers that Parker had bought him (“How you run in those dress shoes, I have no idea. Doesn’t it destroy your ankles?”).

“What’s the situation?” Zahide asked, leaning against the locker next to Nick.

“I don’t know yet. They found Parker at a crime scene.” Nick looked through his locker, then grabbed an extra set of sweats. They would fit Parker long in the cuffs, but it would be better than whatever scrubs the CSIs provided.

“Is he okay?” Avila came up behind Zahide, her eyebrows drawn together. “Was he hurt?”

Nick shook my head. “Captain Tate didn’t say. Just that he was asking for Tate.”

“Do you need a ride?” Zahide’s question was practical, but as Nick shut his locker, he kept an eye on his own hands. Steady.

“I’m fine.” Nick took a long breath, exhaling slowly. Of course he was fine. Parker was fine, because he always was.

Avila and Zahide watched Nick go, and when he turned around in the elevator to press the button, he saw them whispering together.

Nick focused on breathing all the way to the ground floor, only checking his phone for the address before he plugged it into the GPS in his car.

He tossed the extra clothes onto the passenger seat, making a face when an empty soda can rolled out from under the seat.

He’d told Parker to take it out the night before, but of course, he hadn’t.

Nick tried to hold on to that frustration, but his mind provided the helpful anxious thought: what if the soda can was the last thing Nick had from him? What if Parker got killed for being in the wrong place at the wrong time and this empty Coke can was the last thing he touched?

It was completely irrational because the soda can had to have been from several days ago, and Parker was nothing if not tactile. There were plenty of things he’d touched since then, Nick included.

When he turned onto Harrison Street, Nick catalogued all of the details as he searched for somewhere to park. Three cruisers, both ends of the street cordoned off. The sawhorses were manned by patrol officers, and when Nick pulled up to park along the curb, they eyed his car suspiciously.

Nick tucked his badge into his jacket pocket, and the officers waved him through the crowd of onlookers.

Automatically, he catalogued the ones closest to the cordon.

There was a man hanging back, tucked against one of the buildings.

Nick squinted at him, but the man turned and called inside the shop—an employee, not a sightseer.

Nick stepped between the sawhorses, following the flow of officers and techs. The building was on a row of storefronts just off San Amaro Avenue. The sign said it was a smoke shop, and the accoutrements in the window indicated what sort of smoking it encouraged.

Nick stopped next to one of the beat cops standing at the door, watching the flow of traffic in and out.

“I’m looking for the lead investigator.” He gestured to his badge. “Detective King, Paranormal Crimes. Major Crimes called us because one of our consultants was at the crime scene.”

“McArdle’s inside.” The officer handed him a pair of crime scene booties and clips for his pant legs. Nick took them, slipping them on and clipping his pants tight against his leg.

Then, he headed inside. The shop was large, one side devoted to tobacco use, the other side for recreational marijuana.

The marijuana side was set up almost like an ice cream counter, different varieties listed with neat, handwritten signs.

Everything was well lit and white except for the red blood and viscera that coated every surface.

Crime scene techs, dressed in white bodysuits, photographed and took samples.

Nick squinted, trying to figure out where the body would have been.

Then he realized that the thick pile of blood and flesh was all that was left of the body.

“Who are you?” one of the crime scene techs asked, glaring at him.

Nick searched his memory for the tech’s name but came up blank. He must be a new hire, even though the badge said he was the senior supervising tech.

“Detective Nicholas King. I’m here to talk to McArdle.” Nick gave his most professional smile, and the tech shook his head.

“The safe zone is behind the counters. She’s out back.” The tech gestured to a route that had been marked with small cones, leading behind the marijuana counter, through the store, and out the back door. He glared as Nick made his careful way through the crime scene, still cataloguing details.

The amount of blood indicated it had been an adult, but the splatter… Nick wasn’t sure what could have caused that.

The storeroom seemed clean of blood, and Nick followed the sounds of voices to the alleyway behind the shop.

“… and I’m telling you that he was already dead when I got here!

I’m not sure how many other ways to say that!

Dead as a doornail! Dearly departed! Gone to the great beyond in the form of exploding!

” Parker was sitting on a stack of empty crates, and Nick’s shoulders went down immediately.

Parker wasn’t handcuffed, meaning that he hadn’t been arrested yet.

The officer looming over him had her arms crossed, brown eyes narrowed. Her hair was pulled up in a professional bun, and when she spoke, it was precise.

“I’m sure that will make your client very happy,” she said. “After all, it’s hard to dig for gold when you’re in pieces on the floor.”

“Look, I’m not sure who you think I am. But I’m not Wile E. Coyote over here, carrying around TNT in my pocket.” Parker was getting worked up and gestured wide with his hands. “The one and only time I had grenades, it wasn’t even my fault, and also, we blew up all of them!”

“Parker,” Nick said. “Stop talking.”

The officer turned, her eyes immediately dropping to Nick’s badge before coming up to his face. “You’re Paranormal Crimes?”

“Nicholas King,” Nick said. “Is he under arrest?”

“Not yet,” she said. Then, grudgingly, she uncrossed her arms, reaching out with her hand. “Elaine McArdle, Major Crimes. He says he’s a PI who sometimes consults for you guys?”

“Yes. Captain Tate sent me over to see what was going on.”

“See? I do work for the good guys.” Parker mimed putting something on his head. “White hat and everything.”

“Is he free to go?” Nick asked.

“Yeah, CSI wants his clothes and shoes.” McArdle gestured to the tent that was set up nearby. She leaned closer. “Listen, as soon as CSI clears him, I’m cutting him loose, but we’re going to want to talk to him tomorrow, and cop to cop? Get him a lawyer.”